


Five Times Peter and Steve Conspired to Take Care of Tony

by sahiya



Series: Iron Dad, Spider Son, and Awkward Stepdad Steve [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Actual Emotional Intelligence, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Tony Stark, Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Domestic Avengers, Exhaustion, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Insomnia, M/M, Major Character Injury, Nausea, Pneumonia, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Peter Parker, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Shaving, Sickfic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-08-05 17:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16372076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: ... and one time Tony took care of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I almost never post as I go, but I've got two and a half of these written, and they're pretty self-contained (though linked and chronological). They are a sequel to my previous Irondad fic, "Tensile Strength." You don't really need to read it first, but they scratch the same narrative itch, so if you like one you will probably like the other.
> 
> Many thanks to Fuzzyboo for beta reading!

“Peter,” Karen said, as Peter swung his way through Queens, “I have an incoming call from Captain Rogers. Would you like me to patch him through?”

“Oh,” Peter said, so surprised he almost missed his next hold. He caught himself, but it definitely disrupted his rhythm. “Uh, sure.”

“Hi Peter,” Steve said through the suit’s built-in comlink. 

“Hey, Capt––Steve,” Peter corrected himself. “How’s it going?”

“All right. FRIDAY says you’re out patrolling?”

“Yep,” Peter replied. “Now that the SATs are over, I’m trying to go out a couple nights a week. Figure I’d better get it in before I come up to the compound for the summer. It’s been a pretty quiet night so far.”

“That’s good. I, uh, I actually had a reason for calling.”

“I figured.” Peter decided he should probably be sitting still for this conversation and swung up to the top of an apartment building. It was a balmy evening, but thankfully none of the residents were out. He sat on the ledge, swinging his feet and looking out at the skyline of Manhattan. Everyone wanted to live in Manhattan, but Peter had never understood the appeal; the boroughs clearly had the nicest views. “What’s going on?”

“T’Challa has requested some help with a situation that’s brewing in Wakanda, so Bucky and I are shipping out in the morning.”

“Okay,” Peter said slowly, not quite sure where Steve was going with this. He still wasn’t a real Avenger; he didn’t get called out for the sort of thing that led Black Panther to ask Captain America for back-up. 

“I need you to keep an eye on Tony.”

Peter blinked. “What do you mean?”

“He’s running himself ragged. We’re finally hammering out the last few details on the Accords, plus he’s been working on a new suit, and the Stark Expo is in two months. Basically, he’s working three full time jobs, and the only time he stops to eat or sleep is when I make him.”

“And now you’re not going to be there,” Peter surmised. 

“Right. I don’t think I’ll be in a complete communications blackout, but it’ll be sporadic and at weird hours. I’m worried he’s going to work himself into a heart attack while I’m gone. But then I thought––he listens to you.”

Peter blinked again. “He does?”

“He does,” Steve said. “I know it doesn’t always seem like it. He also wants to be a good role model for you, and part of that is not being a complete workaholic.”

“Wow,” Peter said. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Steve said, and Peter could hear that he was smiling, even if he couldn’t see him. “You, Peter Parker, make Tony Stark want to be a better man, and I’d like to harness that power for good, if you’ll let me.”

Peter laughed. “Sure. What do you want me to do?”

“Text him periodically and remind him the outside world exists. Maybe call him in the evenings and make sure he’s eaten that day––and coffee doesn’t count. Tell him to go to sleep.”

“Sure,” Peter said. It wasn't like he and Tony didn’t text and talk regularly during the week. “How long are you going to be gone?” 

“Hard to say. Do you think you might come up to the compound next weekend?”

“I’m not scheduled to, but I’m sure May would be okay with it. She has to work anyway.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, sounding very relieved. “You have no idea what a weight off my shoulders this is. I’ll be able to focus on the mission better if I’m not worrying that Tony is giving himself an ulcer living off of coffee.”

Peter felt himself straighten up, without quite meaning to. Steve was Steve, but he was also Captain America, and Captain America had just given him a job to do. “I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will, son,” Steve said. “I’d better go. I still have some things to do, and we’re out of here at 0600.”

“Good luck,” Peter said. “Stay safe.”

“Thanks. Text me and let me know how things are, all right? I’ll get it when I can.”

“I will,” Peter promised. They disconnected. Peter swung down and headed toward home. 

***

 **Peter:** Hey Tony, how are things?  
**Tony:** Busy. Working on new tech for the Stark Expo. Nanobot stuff. I’ll show you when you come up next.  
**Peter:** That’s so cool!  
**Peter:** I had tamales for lunch. There’s a new food truck that’s been parking outside my school. They’re amazing. What’d you have?  
**Tony:** What is lunch?  
**Peter** : lol At least drink a smoothie.  
**Peter:** The brain works better with food in your stomach, that’s what you always tell me.  
**Tony:** I’m jealous. Tamales sound pretty good. I guess I can stop for a shake.  
**Tony:** Are you patrolling tonight?  
**Peter:** No, I have a calc test in the morning. SIGH

***

 **Peter:** I got him to drink a smoothie for lunch.  
**Steve:** Good job, Peter.  
**Peter:** How’s the mission?  
**Steve:** A lot of hurry up and wait. I think it’s going to be at least a week.  
**Peter:** I’ll keep you posted.  
**Steve:** Thanks, Peter. I mean it.

***

By Friday afternoon, Peter was a little worried. He’d texted Tony that morning before school and he’d gotten a text that started out “Hey Pete” and devolved into a word salad of technical jargon that made Peter think that Tony had actually forgotten that he was texting Peter at all and just started mumbling to himself about the newest version of the suit. 

His last two texts to Steve had gone unanswered. Peter assumed that meant the “hurry up and wait” part of the mission was over. He probably wasn’t able to text or call Tony anymore, either. 

Happy was waiting for Peter when he got out of school. Peter waved to get his attention and pointed toward the tamales truck he’d mentioned to Tony earlier in the week. Happy gave him a thumbs up and got back inside the car. Peter bought a paper sack full of tamales, said good-bye to Ned and MJ, and went and climbed into the front seat of the car next to Happy. 

“Hey kid,” Happy said. “Any of those for me?”

“Sure,” Peter said. “I got a bunch. Tony said he was jealous when I told him I had tamales for lunch earlier in the week, so I thought I’d bring some up.”

“That’s a good idea,” Happy said as they crept toward the Lincoln Tunnel. “He was half-buried in the suit when I left. I told him where I was going, but five bucks says he looks at you and says, ‘What are you doing here? It’s not Friday yet.’”

Peter grinned. “I’m not taking that bet.” He broke out one of the tamales and unwrapped it from its corn husk. It was too hot to eat yet. “Steve said he’d probably get like that while he was gone. I’ve been trying to text him and stuff, but I don’t think it’s working anymore.”

Happy shot him an unexpectedly genuine smile. “You’re a good kid, kid.”

Peter felt himself turn bright red. “It’s nothing. Just what anyone would do.”

“Sure,” Happy said, eyes on the road. He held his hand out. “Tamale me.”

“This is going to make such a mess,” Peter said, even as he put the tamale in Happy’s hand. “Tony’s going to be pissed.”

Happy shoved half the tamale in his mouth all at once. “Yeah, like Tony cleans his own cars,” he said through the too-large mouthful. 

He and Happy ate two tamales each, and then Peter pulled out his homework and started working. Traffic out of the city was terrible––which wasn’t weird for a Friday afternoon––but as soon as they hit Jersey and the Turnpike it was smooth sailing. Peter took notes for an English paper as the city slowly turned into increasingly suburban suburbs. 

They crossed back into New York, and Peter took out his biology textbook. They were doing the structure of a cell––interesting stuff, Peter thought. He wondered if Dr. Banner would let Peter use one of his microscopes to look at his own cells and see how different they were from normal human cells. 

He’d just about finished the chapter, and it was starting to get dark, when they finally drove through the front gates of the Avengers compound. Peter grabbed his bags out of the back and they headed inside. 

“Welcome back, Peter,” FRIDAY said as Peter got in the elevator. Happy had waved him off; they really had made a total mess of the car with the tamales and he needed to vacuum out the front seat. “Would you like me to take you upstairs so you can drop your things?” 

“Yeah, thanks, FRIDAY. Um... can I ask how long Tony has been awake at this point?”

“Boss has been awake for about forty hours,” FRIDAY said, as the elevator started moving. “His last meal was twelve hours ago.”

“Great,” Peter sighed. “Is Dr. Banner around?”

“Dr. Banner is at a conference in Boston, returning tomorrow.”

At least he would have back-up eventually, Peter thought. But forty hours was a long time even for Tony. 

Peter dropped off his bags in his room in the penthouse and heated up the tamales in the microwave. He took them down to the workshop and mentally braced himself for what he might find. 

The only word that came to mind was “chaos.” The workshop was always crazy, but Peter had never seen it after a forty-hour work binge. It was frankly kind of a safety hazard. He sidestepped a pile of wiring that he hoped wasn’t live, dodged an overturned bucket of bolts, and almost ran into a table with about eight different StarkPhone prototypes, all opened up with their circuits exposed. A 3D rendition of the newest Iron Man suit was spinning slowly in the air, and the real thing was half-built on a stand next to it. DUM-E was standing by, fire extinguisher in claw, and You and Butterfingers were all hovering like they didn’t know what to do. 

“Uh,” Peter said. “Tony?”

Tony’s head popped up through the Iron Man suit and came out in what would eventually be the chest plate when it was finished. “Peter? What you doing here? It’s not Friday yet.”

Peter almost laughed, remembering Happy’s prediction. But then he took in the bags under Tony’s eyes and the fact that he was almost jittering with manic energy and didn’t want to laugh. Steve hadn’t been kidding about Tony working himself into a heart attack. “It is, actually. It’s six o’clock on Friday.”

“Oh,” Tony said, blinking. “That’s... wait...”

“I brought you tamales,” Peter said, waving the plate at him. “From the food truck outside my school. But you have to come out of the suit first.”

Tony ducked out of the suit immediately and made grabby hands at the plate. Peter handed it over and went to get him a glass of water. If Tony wasn’t eating, he probably also wasn’t drinking enough. 

“How was school?” Tony asked through a full mouth. 

“Okay,” Peter said, perching on one of the stools at the table full of StarkPhones. “We’re getting to some pretty interesting stuff in bio. I was hoping Bruce might let me use some of his equipment this weekend.”

Tony made a disgruntled noise. “I’m going to lose you to the squishy bits, aren’t I?”

Peter blinked. “The... squishy bits?”

“Organic stuff. Biology. _Squishy_.”

Peter laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe? I think bioinformatics is really interesting. Or bioengineering.”

“Hmm,” Tony said, squinting at him suspiciously. “As long as you don’t decide to do it at CalTech or Harvard, I suppose I’ll get over it.”

“No CalTech or Harvard,” Peter agreed solemnly. “Got it. Anyway, school is fine. We had a good decathlon practice yesterday. MJ actually smiled afterward.”

He kept talking so that Tony could keep eating, and watched as Tony put away three tamales without even slowing down. After that, satisfied that Tony was probably not on the verge of keeling over from hunger, Peter ate another tamale himself, while Tony picked at his fourth. He had started slumping in his chair, resting his head on his hand. 

“So what did you want to do tonight?” Peter asked, when all that remained of the tamales was a pile of corn husks. “We could watch a movie.”

“Oh,” Tony said, blinking rapidly. “I have a lot of work, kid.”

“You’ve been working a lot this week,” Peter pointed out. “Maybe taking a break would help. We can get up early tomorrow if you want.”

“You? Get up early on a Saturday?” Tony teased. 

“It’s been known to happen,” Peter said. “Seriously, though. Let’s watch a movie or something.”

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m fine. I don’t need a break.”

Peter sighed. “Are we really going to do this? You’ve been up for forty hours according to FRIDAY. You know that if Steve were here, he would’ve made you go to bed hours ago.”

“Well, Steve isn’t here, is he?” Tony replied, sounding petulant. 

“No, but I am.” Peter stared Tony down. He wasn’t intimidated by Tony these days, but he always tried to be respectful. This, however, was a side of Tony he’d never seen before, and it actually made it easier to stand up to him. “It’s time for a break and some sleep.”

Tony scowled. “You can’t make me.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Are you serious? Did you just say ‘you can’t make me’? Why are you so resistant?”

“I don’t know, why do _you_ resist going to bed?” 

Peter threw his hands up. “Because I have insomnia and nightmares!” 

“Well, so do I!” 

There was a ringing silence. Peter stared at Tony. Tony picked up his glass of water and took a long swallow. He set it down but kept his hands wrapped around it. He wouldn’t look at Peter. “There you go. There’s your answer.”

Peter felt like an idiot. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Tony took a deep breath. “It’s, um. It’s better when Steve is here.”

“Oh,” Peter said awkwardly. “That’s... I didn’t think about that.” It wasn’t hard to imagine, though. May had told him once that one of the hardest things to get used to after Ben died was sleeping alone. The bed was too big and too cold with just her in it. This wasn’t the same thing, of course, but Peter could imagine Tony feeling similarly about sleeping without Steve.

Tony gave him a small smile. “I know you didn’t. It’s okay.”

“But you still have to sleep,” Peter said doggedly, because that was _true_. It could be days before Steve came back, Tony couldn’t be awake the whole time. “That’s what you’re always saying to me. You can’t be in the lab like this, you know. It’s not safe for you. Or me.”

It was playing dirty and Peter knew it. Tony looked for a second like he intended to argue, but then he just sighed, all the fight going out of him at once. He rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

“Okay, then.” Peter slid off his stool. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” Tony asked, as Peter grabbed his hand and hauled him along behind him toward the elevator. 

“First stop, penthouse,” Peter said. “You need to shower and put on whatever clothes you want to sleep in. After that, it’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises,” Tony muttered as FRIDAY whisked them up to the penthouse. 

“It’s only a minimal surprise.” The doors opened, and Peter gave Tony a light shove toward his room. “Shower. Pajamas. Go.”

While Tony was showering, Peter changed into his own pajamas and raided the kitchen. He made them both tea from the stash of loose leaf stuff Bruce had given him after Peter had come clean about his anxiety. He put it in vacuum sealed thermoses to keep it warm, and then made popcorn in the fancy stove-top popper Tony liked. He didn’t think Tony was going to be awake long enough to eat much of it, but it was only eight o’clock and Peter had actually been sleeping okay recently. He’d probably be up a few more hours at least.

Peter was just tossing the popcorn with salt and melted butter in a big bowl when Tony emerged from his room looking damp and pink around the edges. He was wearing a pair of loose cotton pants and a hoodie that was about three sizes too big. Peter was almost certain he’d seen Steve wearing it, but he knew better than to say anything. 

“Popcorn?” Tony asked. “I had about a million tamales, I don’t think I need to eat again for three days.”

“Shh,” Peter said, and handed him his thermos of tea.

“Did you just shush me? In my own house?”

Peter ignored him and shepherded him back into the elevator. “FRIDAY, first sub-basement, please.”

Tony frowned in confusion, but then it cleared. “The media room?”

Peter tapped his nose like May always did when he got the right answer. 

“We can watch a movie in the penthouse,” Tony pointed out. “Or the common area.”

“We could,” Peter agreed. “But we’re not going to.” 

Truthfully, Peter didn’t understand why they didn’t use the media room more often. Everyone else seemed to prefer watching movies in the common area, and he had to admit that it was convenient to have the kitchen right there. But the media room––which was really a mini movie theater––was probably his favorite room in the compound, aside from the workshop. It was below ground and soundproof, so it was completely quiet and could be made completely dark. There were recliners, but there were also enormous bean bag chairs, big enough for two or three people if they were friendly, that were somehow soft, squishy, and supportive all at the same time. It was cozy and comfortable, and it made Peter feel safe. 

“Recliner or beanbag,” Peter declared as they walked in. “Pick one.”

Tony waffled, but once Peter chose his favorite bean bag chair, Tony dropped into the one next to it. Peter put the popcorn on the floor between them, and went and dug a couple of throws out of the cabinet in the corner. He brought one back to Tony and wrapped himself up in the second before collapsing into the bean bag chair with a sigh. 

“FRIDAY, can you throw on the open ocean episode of _The Blue Planet_?” Peter asked, burrowing into his chair. “Low volume.”

“Of course, Peter.” 

The room was immediately awash in blue light from the screen. Peter glanced over at Tony. “Good surprise?” he asked. 

“Yeah, this––” Tony yawned suddenly, so hard his jaw popped. “This might actually work. David Attenborough and ocean noises are basically the sensory equivalent of Ambien.”

“Good,” Peter said, not bothering to keep the smug note out of his voice. “Now, to quote Aunt May––for the love of God, please go the fuck to sleep.”

Tony laughed quietly. “Yeah, okay, kid.” And then, even more quietly, “Thanks.”

Peter stretched out and nudged Tony’s foot with his own. “Don’t mention it.”

Fifteen minutes into the episode, Peter glanced over and saw that Tony had fallen asleep curled on his side, wrapped up in his throw. Peter smiled in satisfaction. “FRIDAY, send a photo of Tony right now to Steve’s phone and caption it ‘mission success,’” he said, as quietly as possible. 

“You got it, Peter.”

***

Despite Peter’s promise about getting up early to work, they slept late the next morning. Even after they were both awake, neither of them seemed to really want to get up. Peter didn’t know about Tony, but he was reluctant to leave the safety and warmth of the beanbag chair for the loud, cold world outside. They talked for almost an hour about nothing in particular. Afterward, Peter’s head felt the quietest it had in ages. 

They spent the morning in the lab, Peter messing around with his web shooters and some other upgrades for his suit while Tony finished working on the new StarkPhone. Bruce showed up while they were eating lunch, and Peter ended up in his lab for the afternoon, looking at cells under an electron microscope––not just his own but Bruce’s, Steve’s, and Bucky’s, too. It was fascinating; Peter didn’t think anyone had ever written a paper about the effects of the different forms of the serum at the cellular level, and he wished that he was in a position to do it. 

“Why not?” Bruce said, when Peter brought it up.

“Because I’m in high school? No journal will take me seriously.”

“Blind peer review,” Bruce reminded him. “They won’t know. I’ll co-author if it makes you feel better, but I think you’re capable of doing the work.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that. He was still mulling it over when he and Bruce headed up to the workshop to collect Tony for dinner. 

Tony had sent off the StarkPhone prototypes earlier in the day and was working on the suit. Pulling him away from it took the combined force of both Peter and Bruce, but they finally convinced him that he was done for the day. In the common area, Bruce set them to chopping vegetables for chicken vindaloo. 

Several times, Peter caught Tony checking his phone. That wasn’t unusual––Tony was even more addicted to his phone than Peter was to his––but he wasn’t responding to anything, just checking it. And he looked worried. 

“Any word from Steve?” Peter asked casually. 

“Not yet,” Tony said, laying his phone face down on the kitchen island. “They’ve been incommunicado for almost three days. I was hoping I’d hear from him today.”

“Sometimes these things take longer than planned,” Bruce said, sprinkling spices over sauteing vegetables. “You know that. I’m sure everything is fine.”

“Yeah.” Tony took a deep breath, visibly shaking off his worry. “Smells great, Bruciebear. Is it going to strip the skin off the roof of my mouth?”

The curry was delicious and not _too_ spicy. After dinner, Bruce excused himself, saying that the conference had maxed him out on social time and he needed a few hours to himself. Tony didn’t even argue when Peter told him to go shower and change for bed, though he did look at his phone again before he went. The worry lines on his face deepened. 

Now Peter was worried, too. Bruce was right, sometimes missions took longer than anticipated. But sometimes they took longer than anticipated because something had gone wrong, and Peter could tell that was what Tony thought had happened. 

They put on _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ , but Peter sensed that Tony wasn’t watching it. He wasn’t nearly as exhausted as he had been the night before, so he didn’t fall asleep in the first ten minutes, but he also wasn’t relaxing. 

Finally Peter got up and went over, nudging at Tony’s knee. “Move over.”

“What?” Tony said, looking up at him. 

“Move over,” Peter repeated. Tony heaved a sigh and moved over like four inches. Good enough, Peter decided, and dropped down to wedge himself into the bean bag chair next to Tony. “You are stressing me out just looking at you,” Peter told him. 

“So you decided to invade my personal space?” Tony grumbled. 

“Yes,” Peter said, and rested his head on Tony’s shoulder. Tony sighed, but after a few seconds, Peter felt him rest his head on top of Peter’s. “I know you’re worried about him. But he’s got T’Challa and Bucky with him. You know that anything that wants to hurt him will have to go through Bucky first, and that’s not easy.”

“I know,” Tony said with a sigh. “I just wish he’d check in.”

“He will,” Peter said, squeezing Tony’s hand. “Just watch the movie, okay?”

They finished _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ , and Peter asked FRIDAY to put on _Moana_. Tony didn’t complain about him choosing a Disney movie that wasn’t Pixar, which meant he still wasn’t really paying attention. But Peter did catch him smiling a couple times during the movie, so he counted it a success. 

Peter must have fallen asleep at some point, because when he woke up, the screen was dark. The room was lit only by the glow of a couple of lights on the media equipment. Tony had tucked a blanket over him. They were still sharing the beanbag chair, but Tony had rolled over, taking over the other half. Peter watched his chest rising and falling evenly, and closed his eyes to go back to sleep. 

When he woke again, it was still pitch dark in the room, but Peter’s internal clock told him it was more early than late. He wasn’t sure at first what had woken him, but then the back of his neck tingled––not in alarm, just a sort of notification. Someone was outside the room and about to come in. He sat up, putting himself between Tony and the door, just in case. 

The door eased open and Steve slipped in. He was out of his uniform, wearing pajama pants and an Iron Man shirt. It was dark, but Peter’s eyes were adjusted enough to see that he looked exhausted and had a row of butterfly bandages across a healing cut on his forehead. 

“Hey,” Peter whispered. 

“Hey,” Steve whispered back, smiling wearily. “Didn’t meant to wake you up. FRIDAY said you two were down here. Thought I’d come join you. I’ll just pull up a beanbag––”

“No, no,” Peter said, levering himself up. “I’m going to head upstairs to my bed, now that you’re back.”

“You don’t have to––”

Peter held a hand up. “I think I do.” He gestured toward the beanbag chair. “All yours.”

Steve gave him a rueful smile. “Okay.” He glanced at Tony. “How is he?”

“He’ll be glad to see you.” Peter hesitated, feeling awkward. “Breakfast later? Like... 9:30? Ten?”

“That sounds great.” Steve put a careful hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter smiled at him, and Steve grinned back, visibly relieved. 

Peter closed the door to the media room behind him and shuffled off to bed. 

He slept until nearly 10:30 and still wasn’t totally awake when he stumbled into the kitchen. Tony and Steve were there already. They both had damp hair and had obviously showered, which was more than Peter had managed just yet. Tony was plastered up against Steve’s back at the stove, where Steve was scrambling eggs, but at Peter’s mumbled greeting he turned and grinned at him. 

“‘Morning, Spider Zombie,” Tony said, reaching out to ruffle Peter’s hair. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Peter said, holding his hands out. Tony made him up a cup with equal amounts cream and coffee and three spoonfuls of sugar, and for once he didn’t lecture him about drinking coffee that was basically candy. 

Peter drank it slumped over at the kitchen island, perking up only when Steve set a giant plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him. Tony claimed the chair next to him, and Steve sat on Tony’s opposite side. “Thanks,” Peter said, finally awake enough to remember his manners. “Um. How was the mission?”

“Okay, in the end,” Steve said. The cut on his forehead had healed up in the last few hours, Peter noticed. “It got a little dicey and took longer than we thought it would, but all’s well.”

“And how’s T’Challa? Did you get to see Shuri?” Tony asked. “We should really have her out––maybe while Peter’s here this summer––oh God, I’d be outnumbered by teenage geniuses. Never mind, I don’t think any of us would survive it.”

“Wait, who’s Shuri?” Peter asked, intrigued. 

“T’Challa’s little sister,” Tony said. “She’s actually, genuinely _scary_ smart, as in, I am scared of how smart she is. The two of you together would either solve climate change or create some sort of horrific AI disaster, and I say that as someone who has made a serious run at both those things.”

“Shuri’s fine,” Steve said with a laugh. “And I think she’d probably be thrilled to come visit.”

“How did Barnes do?” Tony asked, in a much more careful tone. 

Steve grinned. “He did great. He really likes Wakanda. We visited his goats.”

“Wait, what?” Tony said, sitting up. “Barnes has _goats_? In Wakanda?”

“Well, technically they’re not his anymore, but they definitely recognized him. He got swarmed. I didn’t even realize goats cared that much about who fed them.”

“Did you get photos?” Tony demanded. “I need evidence of this, Rogers. Photographic evidence!”

They started bickering and Peter kind of tuned them out to focus on eating as much as he possibly could. Steve had a super metabolism himself, so he knew how to make a _lot_. For once, Peter didn’t have to worry about running out of food before he stopped being hungry. 

By the time he finished his second giant plate of food, Tony and Steve were both done with their breakfasts. Steve was working on his mission report at the kitchen island, while Tony poked at his phone. Peter cleared all their plates off the kitchen island and started loading the dishwasher. 

“Thanks, Pete,” Tony said, getting up. “I need to give Pep a call, and then I’m going to head down to the workshop. You coming?”

“Yep, right behind you,” Peter said, finding a place for the last plate in the dishwasher. He started washing the coffee pot by hand.

Tony vanished into the elevator. Quiet fell over the kitchen. 

After about a minute, Steve cleared his throat. “So, FRIDAY tells me that things got a little dicey here, too.”

Peter placed the last pan in the dishrack to dry and rinsed his hands. “A little bit,” he said, drying them. He turned around to look at Steve. “Did you get the photo I sent you?”

Steve nodded, smiling. “It was a nice surprise when I turned my phone back on. Thanks, both for looking after him and keeping me in the loop.”

Peter shrugged. “It wasn’t really anything.”

“Maybe not to you, but it mattered a lot to me. So, thank you.”

Steve was so sincere about it that Peter felt himself starting to turn red. “You’re welcome,” he said, since he’d already tried to shrug it off and it hadn’t worked. “Um. Are you training today?”

Steve shook his head. “Recovery day for me. I’m just going to finish this mission report, and then I thought I might come down to the workshop and sketch while you guys work.”

“Sounds good. See you down there.” Peter smiled––not _too_ awkwardly, he hoped––and escaped somewhat gratefully to get ready for a day in the workshop. 

***

Sundays were Happy’s day off, so that evening, Tony drove Peter back to Queens personally. Peter always appreciated the extra one-on-one time that came with two hours in the car, even if Tony spent most of it trying to refine Peter’s musical palate (Tony’s words). May tended toward indie rock and musicals. Tony had been horrified to learn that Peter had never listened to Pink Floyd, Metallica, _or_ Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. 

Peter’s ears were ringing faintly by the time Tony dropped him off. He bounded up the stairs, kissed May hello, and took his bags into his bedroom. He pulled his chem book out, intending to do a quick chapter review before bed. He thought there might be a quiz. 

A folded piece of paper fell out of his textbook. Peter picked it up, puzzled. It wasn’t drafting paper or notebook paper, but thick paper. Sketchbook paper, he realized when he unfolded it. 

It was a sketch of him and Tony at the workbench. Peter was bent over, working on something, and Tony was watching him. He was smiling, and had such pride in his eyes that it almost hurt Peter to see it. 

_Peter and Tony_ , it said in the corner, along with today’s date. And then, just beneath it, a small, scribbled “SGR.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Tis the night before the Stark Expo, and Tony is acting weird.

“Welcome to Candyland,” Tony declared, throwing an arm across Peter’s shoulders. 

“Whoa,” Peter said, taking in everything as they walked through the doors and into the main hall. He remembered the Stark Expo as overwhelming but he’d been a lot shorter the last time he’d come. It was still huge, wall to wall with the best technology not yet on the market. And right now, it was all for Peter and a few VIP investors. There was a press event that night, and a big opening party, but the exhibition hall was closed until tomorrow morning.

“So?” Tony prompted, rocking back on his heels, hands in his pockets. 

Peter grinned at him. “It’s amazing. Come on, you _know_ it’s amazing.”

Tony adjusted his tie modestly. “Yeah, I do. Go play, kid.”

Peter was off like a shot. He was sure Tony had things to do, not the least of which was wooing the investors that were floating around. Besides, it wasn’t like it was a hardship, keeping himself entertained in a place like this. Some of the tech he’d already seen prototypes of in the workshop. Some of it he’d even contributed an idea to here and there. That was gonna blow Ned’s mind. It kind of blew Peter’s.

What was even more mind blowing was that all the SI engineers who were there seemed to know him. “You must be Peter,” they kept saying. “Mr. Stark has told me so much about you.” Peter didn’t know what to do with the idea that Tony had been talking about him—bragging about him, even.

A couple hours later, Peter was testing out the new VR tech—skiing down a mountain in the Swiss Alps—when he felt someone put their hand on his shoulder. He pulled the goggles off and grinned at Tony. “This is so cool!”

Tony smiled back, a little more restrained than before. “Glad you’re having a good time, kid.”

“I really am,” Peter said, setting the VR goggles down. “It’s bigger than it used to be, isn’t it?”

“Yup,” Tony said. “About a third again as big as it was ten years ago.” He winced suddenly, his face going weirdly pinched for a second. It cleared just as quickly, and he threw his arm around Peter’s shoulders, steering him down the aisle. “Did you check out the green energy section yet?”

“Not yet. Got kind of caught up in the personal devices. Are you okay?” Peter asked, frowning. “Your face just kind of...”

“What are you talking about? I’m fine,” Tony said, waving a hand. “Come on, let me show you the desalination system that’s gonna solve drought in California.”

Peter hadn’t seen the desalination technology yet—it wasn’t Tony’s area, so he hadn’t worked on it personally—and he had to admit that it was pretty cool. But then Peter realized the next row over was all biotech, including the nanobots that Tony and Bruce had collaborated on, and the green energy stuff just couldn’t compete. Nanobots had all kinds of medical applications, only a few of which were on display. But the scientists were all too eager to tell him as much as he wanted to know about other possibilities. 

Peter realized after a while that Tony hadn’t wandered off again. He was trailing Peter through the exhibits, phone in hand. Peter turned to tell him that it was okay, he didn’t have to babysit him, and caught that pinched look on his face again. Or at least, he thought he did; Tony had put his darkest sunglasses on, so it was kind of hard to tell. 

“Everything okay?” Peter asked.

“Yep,” Tony said, pocketing his phone. “You okay for a bit on your own?”

“Sure. See you before the party?” 

For a second, Tony looked like he’d forgotten about the party completely. “Right, the party. May’s coming?”

“She wouldn’t miss it. She bought a new dress and everything.”

“Good, good,” Tony said, a little vaguely. “Yeah, I’ll see you before then. Have fun.”

He ducked away kind of abruptly, without even a squeeze to Peter’s shoulder. Peter frowned, watching as Tony brushed off someone who approached him, and headed into the back, toward the staff only area. 

Peter couldn’t have said what it was, but something was wrong. Not end-of-the-world, alien invasion wrong; his spidey sense wasn’t going off. But his Tony sense definitely was.

For a while he tried to ignore it. Tony was an adult; he could take care of himself. There’d probably just been some kind of minor emergency. The Expo was a huge event, after all. Stuff probably went wrong all the time. 

Peter couldn’t quite convince himself, though, and nothing really held his attention anymore. He’d have to do this whole section over tomorrow when he and Ned and MJ came back with their VIP passes. He finally gave up and headed toward the back, hoping he might run into Tony. Maybe then he’d finally believe that everything was okay.

He probably wasn’t supposed to be in the staff area, but no one seemed to pay him much attention. He checked a couple of offices and asked people if they’d seen Tony. No one had, and Peter wished the building was wired with FRIDAY so he could’ve just asked her where he’d gone. He felt a little ridiculous, but the longer it took to find Tony, the more anxious Peter became. 

“Everything okay, Peter?” one of the R&D scientists––Dr. Heller, Peter thought his name was––asked, passing him by in the hallway. 

“Yeah, I’m just looking for Tony.”

“Thought I saw him going into the staff bathroom, but that was probably forty-five minutes ago. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. Did you text him?”

“I was gonna do that next,” Peter said, holding up his phone. “Thanks.”

Dr. Heller waved and headed off. Peter headed back down the hall toward the bathroom he’d seen with the “Staff Only” sign on it. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

It was a single stall bathroom, and the door was locked. Peter knocked lightly. 

“Occupied,” came the snapped response, and yep, that was Tony. He sounded weird. Annoyed, but also kind of... off. 

“Tony? It’s Peter. Are you okay?”

“Peter,” Tony said, and groaned. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just––go back to the Expo, and I’ll see you before the party, all right?”

Peter frowned. “You sound weird. Do you want me to text Steve?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Tony snapped. “Do not text Steve. Just––oh shit.” Tony broke off, and Peter heard the unmistakable sound of puking.

Peter winced and stepped away from the door to give Tony some privacy. “Yeah, I’m definitely texting Steve,” he muttered, taking his phone out. 

_Hi Steve, I’m at the Expo with Tony and he’s sick with something. He’s locked himself in the bathroom and won’t let me in but I heard him puking. Help?_

That was only kind of pathetic, Peter decided, and hit send. 

The three dots appeared immediately. Peter glanced uncertainly at the closed door. 

_Oh jeez_ , Steve had written back. _I’m still at the compound. I wasn’t going to come down until tomorrow morning. Do you know what’s wrong with him?_

 _No_ , Peter typed back. _He looked kind of weird earlier, like maybe he was in pain._ He paused, trying to think what else had tipped him off that something was wrong. _And he was wearing his sunglasses inside? The really dark ones._

 _Migraine_ , Steve wrote back instantly. _He should have medication with him, but it might be upstairs in his hotel room._

Yikes. Aunt May got migraines sometimes, and they flattened her. “Hey Tony,” Peter said through the door, glancing around and hoping that no one came by to see him loitering outside a bathroom. “Do you have a migraine?”

“Not your problem, kid,” Tony replied, which was as good as confirmation. 

“Do you have your medication with you?” Peter persisted. “I can run upstairs and get it.”

“Jesus,” he heard Tony mutter, and then the door unlocked. Peter opened it and slipped inside, closing it behind him. 

Tony had turned off all the lights, aside from a glow-in-the-dark, plug-in flower that made the whole bathroom smell like fake gardenias. Tony was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, head cradled in his arms. “I told you not to text Steve.” 

“Why not?” Peter asked, baffled. “He knew right away what was wrong. Just give me your room key and tell me where your medication is.”

Tony sighed. “It won’t do any good now. It only works if I take it when the flashing lights first show up. Once it gets this bad, there’s no point.” He groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “What absolutely shit timing. I can’t blow off the press event or the party. Everyone will think I fell off the wagon and the goddamn stock will drop on the eve of the Expo. Fuck my life.”

 _Whoa._ Peter wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Tony this upset about something that wasn’t life or death.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Peter said. His phone buzzed. “Steve’s on his way,” he reported, relieved. “It’ll take him a while to get here, but he should be here in time for the party at least. And––look, we should let Ms. Potts know. She can cover for you, can’t she? And Dr. Banner,” Peter added. “We should definitely text Dr. Banner. He can help.”

Tony grimaced. “One, I can’t look at my phone without puking. Two, I don’t need the entire world to know I’m sick.”

“One, I’ll do the texting.” Peter sat down beside him, cross-legged. “Two, it’s not the entire world. It’s Ms. Potts, Dr. Banner, and Steve. They’re family, aren’t they?”

Tony didn’t answer. Peter glanced at him and saw his throat moving as he swallowed, and realized he was probably trying not to throw up again. 

Peter texted Steve. _Can you send me Ms. Potts and Dr. Banner’s numbers?_

The numbers showed up immediately. _Getting on my bike_ , Steve texted after that. _Got my comlink. Keep me updated through FRIDAY?_

 _Will do. Drive safe._ Peter opened a new text and sent a message to both Ms. Potts and Dr. Banner, letting them know what was going on and where they were. 

**Bruce Banner:** I’m on my way.  
**Pepper Potts:** Can you get him up to his room?

Peter glanced at Tony, who had shifted over so he was kind of slumped over the toilet. Not puking, but definitely looking like he might. _Maybe_ , he typed back, and dropped the phone. “You okay?” he asked, resting a hand on Tony’s back. 

“You ever had a headache so bad it felt like your head might explode?”

“Once,” Peter said. Tony lifted his head to look at him. Peter raised his hand. “Hi. I got bitten by a radioactive spider and it gave me superpowers, but first it made me really, really sick.”

“Oh.” It was a mark of how bad Tony was feeling that he didn’t even really react to that. He just laid his head back down on his arm and groaned. “Oh God, I’m gonna die here.”

Peter wasn’t sure whether he should be worried or not. On the one hand, migraines weren’t usually life threatening, and this seemed a little dramatic. On the other hand, he’d seen Tony sick before, and he’d never acted like this, so he had to be in a lot of pain. He settled for rubbing circles over Tony’s back. 

There was a quiet knock at the door. “It’s me,” Dr. Banner said through the door. 

Peter leaned up and pulled down on the handle, opening it. Dr. Banner slipped inside. “Hey, Tony,” Dr. Banner said, dropping down beside him. “Haven’t we talked about carrying your migraine medication on you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony muttered. “You gonna lecture a dying man, Banner?”

Dr. Banner rolled his eyes, which made Peter feel better. “I spoke to security and they cleared you a path to the elevator. We’ll get you upstairs, get some Excedrin and more caffeine in you, and you can rest for a couple of hours until the press conference. Pepper is going to try and push it back by thirty minutes, buy you a little more time.”

“Love it,” Tony muttered. “Except for the part that involves standing up.”

“I could carry you,” Peter offered. The other two looked at him. “What? I could. I held up a building once. You’d let Steve carry you if he was here, wouldn’t you?”

“Only if I was actually dying, and maybe not even then. And you’re not Steve.” Tony looked at Bruce and sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

Peter scrambled over and helped Bruce lever Tony to his feet. Tony staggered, hand going to his head. He still wouldn’t let Peter carry him, but he did lean heavily on him as they left the bathroom. Security had done their job; the halls, which had been bustling with people just a few minutes ago, were totally empty. They got in the elevator, and Tony fumbled his keycard out so it’d go all the way to the penthouse. 

“My hands are numb,” he said, leaning on Peter. He had his sunglasses on again, but Peter could see that his eyes were mostly squinted shut behind them. “Feel stupid. Can’t use my brain, can’t use my hands. Hate this.”

The doors opened directly into the penthouse and they staggered off the elevator. Tony made like he was going to crash on the sofa, but Peter resolutely walked him into the master bedroom. Tony sat down on the bed with a groan. 

“Peter, could you go make some tea?” Bruce asked as he started helping Tony strip down. “Something with caffeine in it, please?”

“Sure,” Peter said, and scooted back out to the kitchen. 

There was an impressive array of tea to choose from. Peter made sure that the one he chose was caffeinated and started the water boiling in the kettle. While he was watching it, his phone started buzzing with an incoming call from Steve. Peter swiped it off the counter. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hey,” Steve said. It was remarkably clear, considering he was probably doing ninety miles an hour on a motorcycle. “How’re we doing?”

“We made it up to the penthouse,” Peter said. “I’m making tea. Bruce is in with him.”

“Good. I talked to Pepper. Tony really does have to do the presser and he has to show his face at the party, but he won’t have to stay very long, just an hour or so. She can cover for him after that.”

“I don’t know if he can even do that much,” Peter said, eyeing the half-open bedroom door. 

“You’d be surprised,” Steve said. “Tony is tough as nails. He’ll pull it together.”

“Okay,” Peter said dubiously. He poured the hot water over the tea bag in a mug with the hotel’s logo on it. “Are you making good time?”

“Yup. I should be there in time for the press conference. See you in a bit.”

“See you soon,” Peter said, and disconnected. He dunked the tea bag a few times and took the mug into the bedroom. 

Dr. Banner had Tony tucked into bed. He looked pale and disheveled and there was a trash can sitting right next to him on the covers, but the thing that freaked Peter out the most were Tony’s eyes. Dr. Banner had pulled all the drapes and gotten Tony to take his sunglasses off, letting Peter see just how dull his eyes were. Tony’s eyes were always sharp. With that spark stamped out, he just didn’t look like himself. 

“Here’s your tea,” Peter said quietly, taking it over. 

“Thanks, Pete,” Tony said, not even lifting his head as he accepted the mug. 

“Drink all of that.” Dr. Banner surveyed him. “You want me to stay?” 

“Nah, I’m fine. You can head back down. You, too, kid,” he added to Peter.

Peter shook his head. “No way.”

“Nothing you can do for me,” Tony said. Peter sat down on the bed, scowling at him. Tony sighed. “All right, stay if you want. Don’t know why you’re giving up Candyland to hang out here.”

“The Expo will still be there tomorrow,” Peter said. “I’ll stay in the other room if you want, get some homework done, but I’m not leaving.”

Tony almost smiled. “All right, fine.” 

Dr. Banner left. Tony closed his eyes and sipped his tea, still weirdly listless. Peter sat crosslegged on the bed and picked at a loose thread in the comforter. 

“You want a cold cloth to go over your eyes?” Peter finally asked. “May likes that when she has a migraine.”

“Your aunt gets migraines?” Tony asked, opening his eyes. 

Peter shrugged. “Maybe once every month or two? They got worse after, um, Ben. For a while. Now they’re better.”

“Hmm.” Tony closed his eyes again. “Yeah, a cold cloth sounds good. Let me just finish the tea so Bruce doesn’t go all Nurse Ratched on my ass.” Peter smiled. 

Tony finished his tea and set the mug aside. Peter went into the bathroom and ran a washcloth under the tap. He wrung it out and folded it in thirds. 

Tony had laid down all the way. He’d set the trash can on the floor, which Peter thought was a good sign. “Thanks, kid,” he muttered, as Peter laid the washcloth over his eyes. 

“I’ll be in the next room,” Peter said, smoothing Tony’s hair back so it wouldn’t get caught under the washcloth. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

***

Peter finished the last problem in a problem set for calculus with a relieved sigh. He glanced at the clock; it was almost 4:30 and the press conference was at 5:30, downstairs. Pepper had texted him that she’d be up to get Tony ready, but she was nowhere to be seen. He wondered how long he should let Tony sleep. 

The door to the suite opened. Peter jumped to his feet, but it was only Steve, looking wind blown and a little red after his trip down on the bike. “Hi Peter,” he said, setting his helmet down on a side table. “How’s Tony?”

“Still sleeping, I think,” Peter said, sitting back down. “But we’ve only got about an hour until he has to be downstairs.”

Steve shrugged out of his jacket with a grimace. “Okay. I’m going to see if he’s awake. Can you call room service and run down some ginger ale? Maybe some soup? I want us to get something in his stomach if we can.”

“Sure,” Peter said. Steve slipped through the door to the bedroom, leaving it cracked open a few inches. Peter went still, eavesdropping shamelessly.

“Tony, sweetheart?” he heard Steve say softly.

“Steve?” came Tony’s groggy reply. “You didn’t have to come down early...”

“It wasn’t any trouble. How are you feeling?”

“Like... I don’t have an actual headache anymore, but I feel... kind of hungover? Kind of shaky. Like I don’t really want to move too much, because it could come back.”

“Do you need me to get Pepper to call it off?”

“Can’t.”

“Can,” Steve said firmly. “And will, if I need to.”

“No,” Tony said. “The worst is over. I can do it.”

He sounded grimly determined. Peter sighed to himself and got on the phone with room service, arranging for them to send up a bowl of tomato soup and some ginger ale. By the time he finished, Steve was shepherding Tony out of the bedroom and toward the suite’s dining table. He looked, if anything, worse than he had earlier. Peter scrambled up and got him a glass of water so he could take the pills Steve handed him.

“Thanks, kid,” Tony said with a wan smile. “I know I look like shit, but I actually feel better than I did.”

Peter couldn’t help but feel dubious about that, looking at him. “Are you sure you should do the press conference?” 

“Yes,” Tony said firmly. “Don’t worry, Pepper will fix it.”

Peter exchanged a look with Steve, but Steve didn’t seem to know what that meant either. He gave a one-shouldered shrug. 

The soup and ginger ale seemed to help. Once he’d eaten, Tony was no longer as gray as he had been, but he was still really pale, and his eyes were dull. Peter wasn’t sure how anyone was going to _not_ see that he was sick. 

“Could you... maybe reschedule the press conference?” Steve asked carefully.

“I told you, no need.”

“But—”

The elevator doors opened and Ms. Potts stepped out, carrying a small leather bag. “Oh good, you’re upright,” she said briskly. “Hi, Steve. Hello, Peter.”

“Hi, Ms. Potts,” Peter said. Steve kissed her cheek in greeting.

“I’ve told you, sweetie, call me Pepper.” She stepped out of her heels with a wince and padded across the carpet to Tony. “You’ve eaten and everything. Wow, this is so much easier than it used to be. Let me look at you.” She touched Tony’s chin, tilting it up. “I’ve seen worse.” 

“I won’t ask which time you’re thinking of,” Tony said. 

“Best not.” She set the bag on the table and opened it. “It’s been so long since we did this, I had to send an assistant out to buy all new stuff. Most of it had dried up.”

Peter was about to ask what they were talking about when Ms. Potts took out a tiny pot of makeup and a weirdly shaped sponge––like an egg with pointy ends. He blinked. So _that_ was what Tony had meant when he said she’d fix it. 

“All right, I think I just need to do the area around your eyes and put some color back in your cheeks,” she said. “Otherwise you look okay. Look up for me.”

Tony looked up, and Ms. Potts started dabbing make-up under his eyes and blending it in with the sponge. Within seconds, the pain lines and shadows under his eyes had vanished. “I don’t want to go too far, we don’t need them thinking you’ve had work done,” she said, screwing the cap back on the tube of make-up. She pulled out a compact and a brush. “Smile.” Tony smiled, and she briskly brushed some pink powder over his cheeks. She pulled a spray bottle of something out of the bag. “Close your eyes.” Tony closed them and she spritzed his face. “All done. Congratulations, you look like a human.”

Tony opened his eyes. “Thanks, Pep.”

“Don’t mention it.” She paused, and for a moment she looked so fond of Tony that it was actually kind of embarrassing to see. Peter felt like he was intruding on a private moment between the two of them. “I’m glad this isn’t normal for us anymore.”

“Me too,” Tony said with a smile. The difference was amazing, Peter thought. His eyes were still off, but with color in his cheeks and the pain lines covered up, you had to know to look. “See you down there?”

She nodded and glanced at her watch. “Fifteen minutes.” She squeezed his shoulder and left. 

Tony picked up the compact she’d left behind and opened it up, peering at himself in the mirror. “God, she’s good,” he muttered, and tucked it away in the bag. 

“Did you used to get a lot more migraines?” Peter asked, frowning. 

“Ah, no,” Tony said. He wouldn’t look at Peter. “I used to do a lot more press conferences hungover.”

“Oh,” Peter said, startled. He glanced at Steve and saw that he was watching Tony carefully. “I didn’t know that.”

Tony did look at him then. “It stopped before I met you, thank God. And you’re the best motivation in the world not to start again.”

This time, Peter didn’t know what to stay. Thankfully, Steve saved them both. He got up and pressed a kiss to the side of Tony’s forehead. “Come on, time to get dressed.” 

“Yeah,” Tony sighed. He let Steve pull him to his feet. “You should probably stay up here,” he told Peter. “Too much risk of someone taking your picture if we go down together.” He disappeared into the bedroom.

Peter frowned. “I don’t like this. What if something happens?”

“I’ll be there,” Steve replied. “You don’t need to risk ending up in the tabloids. I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

Peter nodded, relaxing. 

It took Tony maybe ten minutes to change––way less time than it took Peter if he had to put a suit on, but he guessed Tony had been wearing suits a lot longer than him. He came out wearing a pair of blue-tinted glasses––not opaque like the ones he’d been wearing earlier, so it wouldn’t look quite so weird that he was wearing them indoors. But they’d hide his eyes and probably also stop him squinting so much. 

“How do I look? Can you tell I was puking in a public restroom two hours ago?” he asked. 

“Nope,” Peter said. “You look great. Break a leg.”

“Thanks, kid,” Tony said. “And, um. Thanks for everything else.”

Peter shrugged. “It was nothing.”

“Sure,” Tony said, and to Peter’s surprise reached out to give him a hug. Peter barely had time to return it before Tony was stepping away to summon the elevator. Steve gave him a smile and a careful squeeze to the shoulder as he followed Tony in. 

***

The party was every bit as glitzy and glamorous as Peter had expected it to be. He wasn’t even that uncomfortable in the outfit Tony had picked out for him––jeans that fit him way better than anything he’d owned before, a blue button down shirt, and a sports coat. Tony had let him pick the sports coat out from a store but then he’d had his tailor do something to it. Peter had to admit, it looked pretty great. It kinda made him wish he’d invited MJ. 

So far, he hadn’t talked to much of anyone. Tony was hanging back, and Peter hung back with him. Ms. Potts was schmoozing the business people, and Dr. Banner and some of the other engineers were schmoozing the science people. The other Avengers were scattered around the room, running interception. And of course Steve was there, talking to a bunch of unsmiling men in uniform. 

“Pentagon assholes,” Tony said, following Peter’s eyeline. “They would really like me to start making weapons again. Not gonna happen, but they live in hope.” He grimaced and set his empty glass down suddenly on one of the tall tables scattered throughout the room. He caught Peter looking and sighed. “Yeah, I got about ten minutes left in me down here.”

“Is it the noise?” 

“And the lights. And the people. If I hadn’t done the press conference earlier, I’d probably be okay, but I’ve been _on_ for almost three hours now. Not sure how much longer I can keep it up.”

“You want me to get you another seltzer?” 

“Sure, thanks,” Tony said with a wan smile, and Peter headed off to the bar. 

When he came back, May was standing with Tony, glass of wine in hand. She looked great in her new dress––it was really red and kind of sparkly and the neckline was asymmetrical, which Peter had been informed was very in right now.

Peter handed Tony his seltzer and hung onto his own ginger ale. May slipped her arm around Peter’s shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze. “I was just telling Tony how impressed I was with the press conference,” May said. “I can barely string two words together when I have a migraine.”

“It’s a lot of training,” Tony said wearily, “and adrenaline. And the worst of it was over by then.” Tony looked up and said, “Ah, crap” at the sight of whoever was heading their way––but then Natasha appeared out of nowhere, intercepted them, and carted them off. Tony breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, I’m done.” He touched his comlink. “FRIDAY, text Pepper and tell her I’m heading upstairs.”

Peter put his ginger ale down. He glanced across the room and caught Steve’s eye. Steve gave him a nod, then touched two fingers to his watch. “I’ll come with you,” Peter said. “Just for a few minutes, until Steve can get away. Then I’ll come back down.”

“Good,” May said, swallowing the last of her wine. “You owe me a dance, nephew of mine. Don’t think you can get out of it. Feel better, Tony.”

“Thanks,” Tony said, giving her a brief wave. May headed off in the direction Natasha had gone. 

Peter thought Tony might continue to argue about not needing Peter to look after him, but he didn’t. In fact, he waited for Peter to fall in step next to him. In the elevator, Tony leaned against the wall and started loosening his tie. He looked pinched again behind his glasses. 

Peter frowned. “Do you have a headache?”

“Just a normal one,” Tony said, waving his fingers. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Hmm,” Peter said, not totally buying it. 

Once they were safely in the suite, Tony seemed to relax. He went to get changed, and Peter poured him a glass of water and got some ibuprofen for him from the stash Dr. Banner had left. Tony came out wearing a bathrobe and pajamas; he collapsed across the sofa and accepted the pills and the water almost meekly. 

“You and Steve, mother henning me,” he muttered. “God help me.”

“Baby Monitor Protocol,” Peter reminded him, scrunching himself onto the couch next to Tony. 

“That’s different. I know you don’t feel like a kid, but you are, still,” Tony said, even as he rested his head on Peter’s shoulder. “It’s my job to protect you.”

Peter shrugged. “I take care of Aunt May when she’s not feeling well. Since Uncle Ben died, we just have each other. When she’s sick, I’m the one who makes tea and heats up soup. Isn’t that what families do?”

“It was not what my family did,” Tony said ruefully. “But yeah, I guess.” He looked away. “I’m not saying I don’t like it. It’s just... weird.”

“Well, get used to it,” Peter said, slipping an arm around Tony’s shoulders. “Because I’m not going anywhere, and neither is Steve.” 

“Huh,” Tony said reflectively. “When did you become Team Steve?”

“I am Team Tony and Steve,” Peter corrected. “As long as I think he makes you happy. And... I dunno.” Peter picked a piece of lint off the sleeve of Tony’s bathrobe. “I like Steve. He takes me seriously.”

Tony frowned. “I take you seriously.”

“I know, but you’re...” Peter didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Steve treated him like an adult who could make his own choices. Tony sometimes didn’t. And Peter knew it was because Tony didn’t think of him as a future Avenger; he thought of him as his kid. But that wasn’t something they talked about most of the time. “It’s different,” he finally finished.

Tony’s face kind of softened. “I know. Anyway, I’m glad.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

Tony went quiet, kind of dozing against Peter’s shoulder. Peter turned on the TV and flipped channels until he found a _Big Bang Theory_ rerun to not pay much attention to. 

The first episode had ended and the next one started when the elevator opened and Steve stepped out. “Hey,” he said, voice low. Peter gave a little wave with his free hand. 

Tony stirred against his shoulder. “Steve? Everything okay downstairs?”

“Everything’s fine.” Steve crouched down by the sofa so he was at Tony’s eye level. “Come on. Let’s get you into bed.”

Tony sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked at Peter. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yep,” Peter said, stretching. “I’ll here bright and early with Ned and MJ.”

“Awesome,” Tony said, and reached out to ruffle Peter’s carefully gelled curls, much to his chagrin. “Can’t wait.”

“And you’ll keep your migraine medication on you this time?” Peter asked, frowning at him. 

“Probably not.”

“ _Tony_.”

“Okay, okay,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll keep it on me, jeez.”

Peter looked at Steve, who didn’t look like he believed him either. “Tell you what,” Steve said. “I’ll keep it on me, at least for tomorrow. Just in case.”

“Seriously, God help me,” Tony muttered. He waved a hand in Peter’s direction. “Go dance with your aunt, kid. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Peter nodded, getting up. He couldn't stop himself from leaning down to hug Tony. “Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

“I know, kid,” Tony said, sounding amused. “I will. You too, all right?”

“Yeah, I will." Still, Peter hesitated. He knew he needed to go, so that Tony could go to bed, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. Not until he looked at Steve, and Steve gave him a serious nod. 

Peter breathed a sigh of relief and went to re-join the party.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle was still raging when Iron Man went down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Fuzzyboo for the continued beta!

The battle was still raging when Iron Man went down. 

Hydra remnants and scavenged Chitauri tech were a bad combination. They were an even worse combination in the middle of Times Square on a Saturday afternoon in July, when it was wall to wall Midwestern tourists, pickpockets, and people dressed as cartoon characters and puppets. Steve supposed it could have been worse––the subway system under that part of the city was a rabbit warren of narrow tunnels that made him hyperventilate if he thought for too long about the damage someone could do down there––but it was bad enough.

Steve, Tony, and Peter had been at the compound when the call had come in from Sam and Rhodey, who were already on the scene. Peter had turned and looked pleadingly at Tony, who had thrown his hands up and said, “Yes, you can come! Suit up, underoos.”

By the time they got to the city, there was a smoking hole in the ground where a Starbucks used to be. NYPD had managed to corral the tourists to below 38th St., and Sam and Rhodey were exchanging fire with a bunch of Hydra agents. 

“What is even the point of this?” Tony complained as he swooped in and scooped Steve up from the roof of the building where he’d parked the Quinjet. Peter let out a whoop and dove off the building. “Like, what do they think this is going to accomplish––Spiderman, you’re eyes in the sky, do you hear me? If you get yourself shot, you’re going to be grounded forever!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll hang back,” Peter replied through the coms. 

“Hey, any chance we could just let them have Times Square?” Rhodey asked, joining the main coms channel. “Everyone knows it’s the worst place in Manhattan.”

Steve privately agreed, but still: “We’re not allowed to give away pieces of the city to terrorists.”

“Yeah, but if we were, it’d be Times Square, right?”

“Nah, Williamsburg,” Tony said. “Or maybe just the entire L line.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Knock off the chatter, let’s get to work.”

“Speaking of which,” Peter said, making a graceful red and blue arc as he swung from building to building, “I think we have incoming!”

The battle had been rough. The Hydra agents on the ground had a lot of cover and seemingly endless ammunition, not to mention no compunctions at all about property damage. It’d taken the Avengers a good hour and a half to even begin turning the momentum in their direction, and by then Steve was bruised, exhausted, and dirty. 

And then one of the Hydra agents shot Tony right out of the sky. 

Peter called it before it happened––whether because he saw the guy on the ground taking aim or because of the precognitive ability that Tony had dubbed his “spidey sense,” Steve didn’t know. “Oh shit, Tony––” he gasped. 

“Language, Pete,” Tony said, right before something slammed into him and sent him spiraling out of control and into the chaos on the ground. 

“TONY!” Steve shouted, but he was too far away and there were Hydra goons with weapons blocking the way. He’d have to fight his way through them to get to Tony, and that would cost Tony precious minutes he might not have. 

Peter was already in motion, though, and Rhodey was giving him cover as he swung toward Tony. “FRIDAY says he’s alive but unconscious,” Peter reported breathlessly. “She says she thinks there might be some internal bleeding, but some of her sensors are damaged and she’s not sure.”

“Spiderman, listen to me,” Steve said. “Your job is to protect yourself and him. No heroics if you can help it.”

“Should I try and get him out?” 

“We shouldn’t move him if we don’t have to,” Sam broke in. 

“Actually, I think FRIDAY can stabilize him inside the suit,” Peter said. “It’s just awkward to try and carry it. I don’t know if I can do it and web-sling at the same time.” He grunted as he landed. From high above, Steve saw him crouch protectively over Tony’s prone body, web shooters at the ready. He wasn’t carrying any other weapons, Steve suddenly realized, because of course, a friendly neighborhood Spiderman didn’t _need_ weapons. 

This could get really messy, Steve thought grimly. 

And then a new voice broke in on the coms. “Ugh, we’ve talked about this, Steve,” Bucky said. “No fighting Hydra without me!”

“Shit, Buck, I am so glad to see you,” Steve said fervently. 

“What took you so long?” Sam demanded. 

“They’ve shut down all transport in and out of Manhattan, I had to run here!” Bucky replied. “Stop complaining and tell me what to shoot.”

“Cover Spiderman and help him move Iron Man somewhere less exposed,” Steve said. “Falcon, Patriot, let’s finish this.”

“Aye-aye, Cap,” Sam said. 

Peter and Bucky managed to move Tony under the overhang of a building, where they at least had some cover over their heads and at their backs. Bucky ran out, guns blazing, while Peter stayed crouched defensively in front of Tony, shooting his webs aggressively any time one of the Hydra agents came in range. He started accumulating an impressive stockpile of confiscated weapons.

Finally, _finally_ , Bucky and Rhodey together managed to take out the last four Hydra agents with a coordinated aerial attack and a couple of repulsor blasts from Rhodey. Steve’s shield came back to him one last time, and they all stumbled to a halt in the middle of the wreckage. He looked around, assessing the terrain, looking for any further threats. But the bodies on the ground were unmoving, and the only sounds were distant sirens and the _thwap-thwap-thwap_ of a helicopter. 

“Is it over?” Peter asked through the coms.

“I think so,” Steve said, taking off toward them. “On my way. How’s he doing?”

“Still out cold,” Peter said. “FRIDAY says he’s stable. But––oh crap––”

“What?” Steve demanded, but the only answer he got was a gasp and a grunt that made his blood run cold. He turned the corner, dodged a pile of rubble, and skidded to a horrified halt.

They’d missed one. 

Peter was on the ground, still covering the Iron Man suit. He looked small beside it, and even smaller next to the Hydra agent that had sunk the tip of a Chitauri weapon right into Peter’s thigh. 

Steve threw the shield. It hit the Hydra agent in the neck and dropped him instantly. 

He caught the shield one-handed. “Sam, we need to get Peter and Tony out of here now.”

“Roger that, I’m on my way to the Quinjet.”

Steve landed on his knees next to Peter. “Okay,” he said, as calmly as he could. “That looks painful.”

“I, uh. Ow,” Peter said, staring at it. The blade had fallen out when Steve had cut down the agent holding it, and blood was already soaking the fabric of his suit around the wound. Steve could only hope it hadn’t hit the femoral artery. 

“Okay, lie down,” Steve said, pushing him back. He pulled Peter’s legs into his lap, raising them above the level of his heart, and put pressure on the wound. Peter shouted in pain and tried to flinch away, but Steve held him firmly. He didn’t have anything to make into a tourniquet but he could staunch the bleeding until they got him on the Quinjet, there would be supplies there.

“What happened?” Rhodey demanded, landing at a run, Bucky right behind him. 

“Last one standing stabbed Peter,” Steve said tersely, and kept putting pressure on the wound. It was still bleeding. Peter had gone really pale and started to shiver. Tony still lay still and silent beside them. Not even Peter crying out in pain had roused him. 

The Quinjet landed none-too-soon, navigating carefully around the piles of rubble. Together, the four of them got both Peter and Tony loaded onto it. Once Tony was horizontal, Steve touched the nanobot casing and the suit retracted, flowing back into it. Tony had bruises already blooming across his body, and a nasty-looking contusion on his forehead. 

Steve glanced at Sam, who had just finished packing Peter’s wound with fast-coagulating gauze. “How is he?” 

“Going into shock,” Sam said, scrambling up to the pilot’s seat. “And losing blood. I don’t even know how badly Tony is hurt yet. I called ahead to let Bruce what was going on. We’ve gotta move.” 

Steve glanced outside. NYPD had started making their way into the battleground. He looked at Rhodey and Bucky. “Can you two stay here and coordinate clean-up efforts?”

“Sure,” Rhodey said. “Keep us in the loop, all right?”

“Of course,” Steve said. “Thanks. Come up when you can get away.” 

Rhodey gave him a salute and jumped out of the Quinjet. Bucky caught and held his eyes, reached out, and squeezed his shoulder. “They’re both tough,” he said. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Steve said roughly, and then Bucky was gone, too. The hatch closed, and they lifted off.

***

It took Steve three days to realize Tony was mad at him. 

In his defense, they were three exhausting, at times downright harrowing days. Tony had needed surgery to prevent his broken ribs from puncturing his lungs, and also to remove his spleen, which had been ruptured in the impact from the fall. Peter hadn’t needed surgery, but he had needed a couple pints of his own blood. 

That on its own wouldn’t have been all that bad––Steve had lost count of the number of times he’d received transfusions of his own blood since waking up from the ice––but the Chitauri blade had been coated in something nasty. Bruce didn’t even know for sure what it was, whether it was poison or some kind of alien infection. 

Either way, within four hours the wound in Peter’s leg was painfully inflamed instead of healing, and Peter was running a dangerously high fever. And of course, the only painkiller they had for him was one that ratcheted his anxiety up even at the best of times. May was there, which kept the worst of the panic at bay. But Peter was smart, and at some point he was going to be with it enough to realize that he hadn’t seen Tony yet. 

In the middle of all of this, Tony woke after major surgery and found out that his kid had been injured while protecting him. Steve hadn’t delivered that news personally; he’d been taking a very belated shower at the time, now that everyone was out of danger and he could breathe again. Bruce and Rhodey had told Tony the story. 

He was toweling off when FRIDAY said, “Captain, I think you’re needed in the infirmary. Boss seems agitated, and he’s attempting to get out of bed.”

“What?” Steve yelped. “No! No, no, no, no.” He threw on the first thing he could find––a pair of jeans and one of the Captain America sweatshirts that Tony kept buying him as a joke––and ran out of the room in bare feet. He took the stairs, since he was faster than the elevator, leaping down three at a time. 

Bruce and Rhodey were trying to keep Tony on the bed when Steve finally threw himself through the open door to Tony’s hospital room. Tony probably would have been shouting if he’d had the strength, but he didn’t. He sounded a strange blend of exhausted and furious as he growled, “I swear to God, if someone doesn’t let me see Peter right the fuck now, I will lose my fucking mind.”

“His aunt is with him, he’s fine, you need to rest,” Rhodey said. 

“I will rest when I’ve seen him,” Tony replied with a glare. “And he is not fine. I swear to God, if someone doesn’t take me to see him, I am getting out of this bed and walking there.”

“You aren’t walking anywhere,” Bruce said firmly. “We’ll take you. Just give me a minute.” He started fussing the with the IV stand, and Steve took the opportunity to make his presence known. 

“Please try to calm down,” Steve said, bending over to brush his lips across Tony’s forehead. “If you’re upset, Peter will pick up on it, and he’s already anxious because of the painkiller.”

Tony glared at him—angry at being told to calm down, Steve assumed at the time. But he also laid back and visibly tried to control himself. “Better?”

“Yes,” Steve said. “Are you in pain?”

“No,” Tony said shortly.

Bruce snorted. “You’re lying. Scale of one to ten.”

“Four,” Tony said, with palpable reluctance. “I’m okay for now, though. I just really want to see Peter.”

“And we’re taking you to him,” Bruce said calmly. “Rhodey, can you help me?”

“Sure,” Rhodey said, and helped Bruce steer Tony’s hospital bed out of the room and down the hall. 

Steve had looked in on Peter earlier. He’d been feverish and out of it, clinging to his aunt’s hand and asking for Tony. Tony had been in surgery at the time, but Steve hadn’t wanted to tell him so. He’d told him Tony was okay, just resting, which was what Peter himself needed to do. When he’d left, Peter had looked like he was about to doze off, and May was settling in for the long haul. 

None of that had prepared Steve to enter Peter’s hospital room to find him weeping inconsolably. May had him cradled in her arms, rocking him slightly, and stroking his hair. “Peter, he’s fine, I promise you,” she was saying desperately. “I would tell you if something was wrong.”

“No. No. You wouldn’t,” Peter sobbed, shaking his head. He drew a deep, trembling breath, and burst into fresh tears. “You’re lying to me,” he accused, even as he clutched harder at May’s sweater. “I know you’re lying. He’s dead and––and it’s my fault.”

“No, no—oh thank God,” May said, catching sight of them. “Peter. Peter, look, it’s Tony and he’s fine.”

“Fine” was probably stretching it, Steve thought, but propped up in his hospital bed, Tony definitely didn’t look like he was dead or dying. He reached for Peter as Rhodey shoved his bed into place next to Peter’s. Bruce arranged the IV stand carefully next to him.

Peter’s eyes had gone wide. “Tony?” he said, breath hitching.

“In the flesh, kid,” Tony said, still holding his hand out.

Peter reached out and took it. May helped him lie back down so he could be a little closer to Tony. Tony held his hand and pulled it against his chest. “Feel that? I’m still breathing, and my heart’s still beating.”

Peter’s eyes flooded with tears. “I thought you’d died and no one would tell me.”

“No, kid, no,” Tony said. “Even if something bad had happened, your aunt would never lie to you like that. Neither would Steve.”

“Oh,” Peter whispered. “Yeah.” He craned his neck around to look at his aunt. “I—I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby,” May assured him, smoothing his hair back. She winced and looked at Bruce. 

“I’m going to get a couple of compresses,” Bruce said, and left the room. He came back a minute or two later and put the compresses on the top of Peter’s head and under each of his arms. Peter flinched and whimpered, but May soothed him, and after a few seconds, he relaxed. He was still sniffling, still taking hitching breaths, still looking at Tony like he wasn’t sure he was real, but he wasn’t out and out sobbing. 

Peter fell asleep like that, fingers hooked through Tony’s. Tony followed suit, maybe five minutes later. Steve breathed a sigh of relief and crumpled down into the visitors’ chair.

Bruce looked from Steve to May and sighed. “I’ll let them know we’ll need another sofa in here. Rhodey, could you... ?”

“Oh yeah,” Rhodey said, and followed Bruce out. 

May covered her face with her hands, looking like she was seconds away from bursting into tears herself. “How long had he been like that?” Steve asked. 

“About twenty minutes, I guess,” May said, dropping her hands down to her lap. “I think maybe he dreamed that Tony was dead, and between the fever and the medication, when he woke up, he was convinced it was real. Nothing I said mattered. I’m really glad you guys showed up when you did.”

“Remember you can always ask FRIDAY if you need back-up,” Steve said. “And if we end up having to separate them for some reason, we can make sure Peter can see a live stream of Tony, so he always knows he’s safe. Or something like that.”

May nodded. “Thanks.” She sighed. “His fever is just so high, and Dr. Banner doesn’t know how to help him.” _I’m afraid for him_ , Steve heard without her having to say it.

“I know,” Steve said. “But Peter is really strong, and he’s a fighter. He’ll get through this. We’ll get him through this.”

May smiled, a little tremulously. Steve wasn’t sure she believed him more than about fifteen percent, but fifteen percent was something. Fifteen percent could maybe be enough to get them through until tomorrow, when hopefully things would be better. 

Things did get better overnight. Peter turned a corner, and his body started fighting off the infection. He was still feverish and very weak, and he still slept a lot, but Bruce stopped looking so worried. Still, for the next two nights, Steve and May slept on the sofas that’d been wedged up against the walls in the hospital room that Peter and Tony were now sharing. Steve had definitely slept on worse, but it was a huge relief when Bruce declared Tony and Peter both well enough to move up to the penthouse. 

Steve still hadn’t figured out that Tony was mad at him. Tony was sleeping a lot and focused on Peter when he wasn’t. Steve was focused on Tony, but they weren’t having a lot of conversations about anything other than immediate physical needs. 

But after Bruce saw them settled in the penthouse, Peter fell asleep and May went to take a well-deserved nap in a real bed. Tony was tucked into bed, but he wasn’t sleeping for once. Peter was wrapped up in a blanket next to him, barely even a tuft of curls peeking out. His fever had dropped below 102 that morning for the first time since his injury, but he’d gotten chilled during the move up to the penthouse. 

Steve cleared his throat. “Can I get you something to drink? Tea, or ginger ale?”

“No, thank you,” Tony said. He had one hand resting on Peter’s back, thumb sweeping back and forth. Peter probably couldn’t even feel it through the layers of blankets.

Steve frowned, a little taken aback by the curt tone of Tony’s refusal. “It’s just, you heard what Bruce said—you don’t have the IV in anymore so you need to—”

“I know, Steve. I’m not thirsty.” It wasn’t a snap, not quite, but probably only because Tony was so tired. He was frowning.

Steve hesitated. “Are you okay?”

Tony looked at him. “I’m okay. But you and I are not.”

Steve was taken aback. “We’re not? What’s wrong?”

“Do you really have to ask me that?” Tony asked wearily.

“Um.” Steve hesitated, wracking his brain, but he couldn’t think of anything he’d done that might’ve pissed Tony off in the last couple of days, and they’d been fine when they’d left the compound for the city. “Yeah, I do. Sorry.”

Tony sighed. “You put Peter in danger, Steve. To protect me.”

“I put—that’s what you’re mad about?” Steve sputtered, trying to keep his voice down to avoid disturbing Peter. “You’re the one who told him he could come!”

“I told him he could come and be eyes in the sky,” Tony hissed. “I did not tell he could come and get stabbed trying to protect me! That wasn’t the deal. And I know you were the one who ordered him to!”

“I didn’t have to order him to!” Steve replied. “You were down, Tony. You think I could’ve stopped him?”

“I think you could’ve tried harder than you did,” Tony replied. “For fuck’s sake, Steve, he could’ve died! Do you know what that would’ve done to me?”

“Yes,” Steve said. “I do. Because I remember what it _did_ to you. Do you know what it would’ve done to _him_ if you’d died? You told me yourself—he has PTSD from losing three parents by the time he turned fifteen. He was inconsolable when he thought you’d died. And you think I could’ve stopped him?”

“Yes,” Tony snapped. “It is not his job to protect me.”

Beside him, Peter stirred. Tony snapped his mouth shut, still glaring at Steve, and put his hand on Peter’s head, burying his fingers in his curls. Peter settled. Steve threw his hands up and turned on his heel. 

“Wait, where are you going?” Tony asked. 

Steve hadn’t expected the note of anxiety in his voice, as though Tony actually thought Steve would abandon him like this because of an argument. He turned back. “I’m going to make soup. I’m leaving the room for a little while, because I’m frustrated with you and I don’t want to make the situation worse. Also, you should rest, per Bruce’s orders.”

“Oh,” Tony said. “Um, okay.”

Steve gave him a small smile. “Let FRIDAY know if you need me, all right?”

Tony nodded. 

They didn’t argue about it again, mostly because Peter was always there, especially after May had to go back to work in the city. He was still really weak; his body had fought off the infection, but it’d depleted all his reserves in the process. It made him clingy and unwilling to let Tony out of his sight. Steve didn’t blame him. 

Not arguing about it didn’t mean Tony was over it. Steve didn’t know what he wanted, other than for Steve to admit he was wrong—which Steve was pretty sure he hadn’t been—and for that to somehow mean that Peter would never put himself in danger again. Steve sympathized, but he also knew no good could come of telling Peter not to put himself on the line for the people he loved. Steve had been that young and stubborn once. He recognized it when he saw it.

In addition to being young and stubborn, Peter was also smart as a whip. Steve knew that the frostiness between him and Tony could only go on so long before Peter noticed. It had only gone unnoticed for so long because Peter was sleeping a lot and pretty out of it the rest of the time from the painkillers. 

By day five, though, he’d finally gotten some of his Peter-spark back, enough to start getting restless. Bruce approved an expedition to the living room sofa, and so Steve supervised Peter as he got out of bed, changed into fresh pajamas, and shuffled out to the living room, where Tony was already ensconced in front of the TV. Steve went to get the sandwiches he’d made, and the three of them ate lunch together in the living room, a _Brooklyn 99_ episode on in the background. 

Usually Tony and Peter talked all the way through whatever they were watching, much to Steve’s annoyance; he always had to rewatch anything they watched together that he hadn’t seen before. But Tony was quiet, and Steve didn’t feel like trying to carry the conversation with someone who was mad at him. After a couple of attempts to get Tony talking, Peter seemed to give up.

But when the episode ended, Peter picked up the remote and paused it before it could roll to the next one. “All right,” he said. “You two are being weird. What’s going on?”

“We’re fine,” Tony said, but the shortness of his answer gave him away.

“Yeah, you’re really not,” Peter said. “What’s wrong? I don’t like this, it makes me all anxious. Are you mad at each other?”

He actually did look upset, and Steve winced. “I’m not mad at Tony,” he said, truthfully.

Peter squinted at him. “Hmm. Tony?”

“I’m not mad at Steve,” Tony muttered. 

Peter stared at him. “Yeah, you’re lying. Why are you mad at Steve?”

“I’m not mad at Steve.”

“Why are you mad at Steve?”

“I’m not.”

“Stop lying to me. Why are you mad at Steve?”

Tony heaved a sigh. “If I tell you, will you let it go?” 

“No promises,” Peter said with a shrug. “But if you don’t tell me, I definitely won’t.”

Tony visibly gritted his teeth. “I am mad at Steve because he risked your life to save mine.”

Peter blinked. “That’s what you think happened?”

“That _is_ what happened!” Tony said. “I got FRIDAY to play me the recording. Steve told you to protect me––”

“He didn’t have to tell me to protect you. I was doing it anyway!”

“You shouldn’t have been. It isn’t your job to protect me!”

Peter gaped. “Are you kidding me? This again?”

“Peter––”

“No,” Peter said, sitting up straight in his indignation. “You know when I said that Steve takes me seriously? This is what I meant! I’m just a kid to you!”

Tony shook his head, mouth set in a firm, unhappy line. “You’re not just a kid to me. You’re _my_ kid to me. If I’d woken up and you had––” He choked off, looking away. “That would’ve destroyed me, Peter.”

Peter softened, just a little. “I know, but you can’t really think I would’ve ever stood by and just let you get hurt or––or––” Peter swallowed. “You can’t think that I needed Steve to tell me what to do. He knew what I was going to do. He was telling me to be careful.”

Tony didn’t say anything. After a few seconds, Peter sighed and got to his feet. Steve tensed, in case Peter wobbled, but he didn’t. “I’m your kid,” he said quietly, looking at Tony. “But I’m also Spiderman. Someday I’m going to be a full Avenger. And I am never, ever going to just stand by while someone I love is in danger. I wouldn’t be your kid if I did.”

Peter turned and walked away. He went into his room and shut the door. 

Tony sagged back against the arm of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. Steve took pity on him and went to sit on the edge of the sofa. Tony looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. 

Steve sighed. “He’s right. You know he’s right.”

Tony’s mouth twisted. “I know. I just...” He made a fist and pressed it over his heart. “It’s like a piece of me is walking around out in the world, exposed. Vulnerable. And I already lost him once, I’m so scared of ever feeling like that again.”

“I know.” Steve reached out and tucked a curl of hair behind Tony’s ear. “He’s scared, too, you know. He wants you to be safe as badly as you want him to be safe.”

Tony snorted. “Too bad we’re both fucking superheroes, then.”

Steve smiled. “Well, I’ve known you a while now, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do anything the easy way.”

“Truth,” Tony said ruefully. He looked up at Steve. “Sorry for getting mad at you over something that wasn’t your fault.”

Steve shrugged. “Easier to get mad at me than him. I understand.”

Tony groaned. “Goddammit. If you could understand me a little less well and be a little less forgiving, that’d be great for my guilt complex. Thanks.” 

Steve laughed. He leaned down and kissed Tony. “What do the kids these days say? Sorry, not sorry?”

Tony whacked him on the shoulder. “Asshole.”

***

Steve was whisking eggs in a bowl for breakfast-for-dinner when Peter emerged from his room. “Hi,” he said, seating himself at the kitchen island.

“Hi,” Steve said, smiling at him. “Very important question for you. Pancakes or waffles?”

“Hmm,” Peter said, propping his chin on his hand. “Do we have blueberries?”

Steve checked the freezer. “Yep,” he said, taking a bag of frozen blueberries out. “Pancakes, then?”

“Yes, please. Can I help?”

“No,” Steve said. “The upside to getting hurt is that you get to sit right there and watch me cook dinner and you don’t have to feel at all guilty about it, okay?”

Peter smiled. “Okay.” He was quiet for a little while. Steve started the pancake batter and let him sit and think. Eventually he glanced over and saw that Peter was chewing on his lip. Steve raised an eyebrow at him, and Peter sighed. “Is Tony upset with me?”

“No. He’s just taking a shower.” 

Peter didn’t look satisfied by that answer. “Are you sure? I feel like I should apologize to him, because he was upset. But I don’t think I did anything wrong. And I don’t think you did anything wrong, either.”

“Neither of us did anything wrong,” Steve said. “You and I made the right call in the moment. Maybe there was a way to handle it that didn’t put you in danger, but I didn’t see it at the time. And Tony didn’t do anything wrong, either.”

“He shouldn’t have blamed you,” Peter pointed out. 

Steve shrugged. “That’s between him and me. I don’t hold it against him. He’s just scared.”

“Of losing me,” Peter said. Steve nodded. He folded the blueberries into the batter, carefully, so that the whole thing wouldn’t turn purple. It turned a little purple anyway. “I’m scared of losing him, too. My therapist says I have abandonment issues from losing so many people so young. She actually gave me all this brain science research to read about it. Did you know that losing a parent when you’re young changes your brain?”

Steve shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

“It does.” Peter hummed. “You lost your parents young. Tony, too. So we’re all a little fucked up. None of our brains are quite right. And I just need to remember that if I get hurt, Tony is going to flip out. And vice versa.”

Steve nodded. “And it’s not because he doesn’t take you seriously.”

Peter made a face. “Yeah, okay.” He took a deep breath. “I still like that you trust me. And that you think of me as a future Avenger. And you’re okay with that idea.”

Steve turned the heat down on the stove so he could turn and look at Peter as he spoke. He did it just in time to see Tony step out of their bedroom and lean against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, listening. 

“I’m more than okay with it,” Steve said, loudly enough that he knew Tony would be able to hear him. “I’m really glad that you’re the future of the team, Peter. Because you’re not just fast, and strong, and really, really smart. You’re also kind. You’re not jaded or cynical or angry, even though you could be. You’ll be a great leader someday, but the team doesn’t just need a leader––it needs a beating heart, and I think you can be that, too.”

“Oh,” Peter said, blinking rapidly. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

“No one does, kid,” Tony said, shuffling over on sock feet. He put his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “No one ever knows what to say to him when he says shit like that.” 

Steve shrugged, unrepentant. “It’s just true,” he said, turning back to the stove. He poured pancake batter into one pan and gave the scrambled eggs in the other pan a poke with his spatula. He kept his back turned, so as to give Peter and Tony the illusion of privacy. 

“Are we okay?” Peter asked softly. 

Tony sighed. “Yeah. We’re okay.” He went quiet for a few seconds. “I suppose I really should have thanked you.”

“For what?”

“You kind of saved my life, kid.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t go making a habit of it.”

“No promises, Tony,” Peter said. Steve smiled to himself and flipped a pancake. “No promises.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 16th.

Peter liked Christmas. Peter liked New York City. Peter would’ve probably liked Christmas in New York City, except that Peter went to school two blocks from the Macy’s in Herald Square. 

“I swear, if you _pull over_ on the sidewalk to gawk at the Empire State Building, it will _still be there_ ,” he muttered, swerving around a group of tourists blocking the sidewalk. It was wall-to-wall people everywhere he looked, and a bunch of them wearing matching “I <3 NYC” shirts and Santa hats were blocking the entrance to his subway station. He dodged around them and ran down the steps to make it onto the train just as the doors closed. 

He emerged from the station in his neighborhood to find two missed calls from Steve on his phone, plus a text that said, _No emergency, just call me when you can._ Peter ducked into one of his favorite alleys to suit up. He stashed his backpack behind a trash can, under a tarp, and touched the bracelet on his wrist. The suit flowed over him, and Peter leapt up to grip the side of the building, scuttling up to the roof. 

“Good afternoon, Peter,” Karen said. “How are you today?”

“Glad to be in the air,” Peter said, and started swinging between buildings. “Steve called me, can you call him back for me?”

“Yes, though Mr. Stark has programmed me to inform you that you should not web-swing while distracted.”

“Okay, okay,” Peter said, and swung up to the roof of the next building. He sat on the edge, feet dangling off. “Happy?”

“Thank you, Peter,” she said, and then Peter heard Steve’s phone ringing.

“Hi Peter,” Steve said, picking up. “Thanks for calling me back, I’m sure you’re really busy.”

“Ehh,” Peter said. “Just finals and Spiderman. The usual. My college apps are all in now, so that’s a big load off.”

“Still sounds like a lot,” Steve said. “Which makes me feel kind of bad for asking what I called to ask you, which is whether you could maybe come up to the compound this weekend? I know you’re not scheduled to,” he added. “And you and May are coming for the holiday. It’s okay if the answer’s no on this weekend.”

“Um.” Peter hesitated. “I don’t know, I have finals next week, and I was supposed to study with Ned and MJ.”

“Oh,” Steve said, sounding distinctly bummed, even though he’d just said it was okay. “Sure, I understand. We’ll see you on the 23rd, then?”

“Wait, wait.” Peter felt like he was missing a crucial piece of this conversation. He was going to be up at the compound in a week for Christmas; why was it suddenly important that he come the weekend before? “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, really. It’s just—Saturday is December 16th,” Steve said, as though that explained everything. 

“Right,” Peter said. “So...?”

“Tony’s parents died on December 16th.”

Peter blinked. “Oh. I didn’t know the date.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said. “I shouldn’t have assumed. It just seems to be hitting him hard this year. He’s been really quiet, and I caught him looking at some old photo albums the other day. He and I have some tough history around it, so I feel like I might not be the best person for this.”

“I don’t think I’m the best person for it, either,” Peter said. “He doesn’t really talk to me about that stuff.”

“He doesn’t talk to much of anyone about it,” Steve says, sounding tired. “It’s okay. Maybe Rhodey can get away for a couple of days, or Pepper. Bruce is at a symposium in Lisbon until next week... anyway, it’s fine. I don’t want you to put your grades at risk, and neither would Tony. See you on the 23rd?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “See you then.”

Steve disconnected. Peter sat looking out over the city. Dusk was falling, even though it was early, the days really short so close to the solstice. 

Tony had been Peter’s own age when his parents died. When his parents were _murdered_ by the Winter Soldier, and yeah, Peter understood why Steve thought that maybe someone else was better for this. He knew how much it hurt to have someone taken from you like that. It’d been a long time for Tony, but it’d been a long time for Peter since his own parents had died, and there were still days when he got really sad about it. And the last year had been so hard, with so much grief for everyone. 

He really needed to study. But he also didn’t feel right about not being there when Tony needed him. 

“Karen, text Steve,” Peter said. “Ask him if I could come up Friday evening and come back early on Sunday, for my study session.”

“Will do.” Karen went quiet. Peter shot out a web and plunged off the building, stomach doing barrel rolls. “He says yes, of course, he’s happy to drive you himself. And thank you.”

“Tell him not to worry, I’m glad he asked.”

***

Friday after school, Steve was waiting for Peter, a little further down the street than Happy usually parked. He didn’t have one of the black Town Cars, but a blue Audi with a red racing stripe and—Peter laughed—white stars all along the driver’s side. 

“Custom paint job?” Peter teased as he climbed in the passenger seat. 

“I love him, but Tony can be a real dick,” Steve muttered. “I tried to take something less attention-grabbing, but FRIDAY had mysteriously locked me out of all the cars except this one.”

“Is he mad at you?” Peter asked, puzzled. 

Steve sighed as he pulled out into traffic. “I think he’s feeling handled. He was annoyed with me for asking you to come up this weekend. Not that he doesn’t want to see you,” he added hastily, “but he knows how much work you have.”

Peter shrugged. “I’m okay. It was kind of good to have a reason to really buckle down the last couple days. Otherwise I’d’ve left everything until this weekend. And sometimes a break helps everything in your head really stick, or at least that’s what May says.”

“She wasn’t upset about you coming up this weekend?”

Peter shook his head, looking out the window. “She gets it. And she’s going to a holiday party tomorrow night with this guy she’s been seeing, so I’m not sure she wasn’t secretly glad to have me out of the house.” Peter made a face, and Steve laughed. 

Happy always took the Lincoln Tunnel, but Steve headed up the West Side Highway and over the GW Bridge. Peter pulled out his history notes and started reading through them with a highlighter. He and Ned and MJ had split up their classes, each of them taking two—one fuzzy and one techy, as MJ put it—and working on study questions for them. Peter had chemistry for his techy and history for his fuzzy. 

By the time he surfaced they were cruising along the Palisades, catching glimpses of the Hudson off to their right. 

“So I picked up some things in the city,” Steve said, when he noticed that Peter didn’t have his nose buried in his notebook. “I went to a fancy Italian grocery store and got a bunch of fresh pasta and Italian sausage and mozzarella, fresh basil, some really nice olive oil. Tony’s mom, Maria, was Italian, and I found a bunch of her recipes stashed in the back of a photo album. I thought we could all make lasagna together tomorrow? And tiramisu?”

“That sounds nice,” Peter said. “May makes Ben’s favorite meal on his birthday every year. Well, she makes the thing he told her was his favorite,” he added wryly. “I’m not sure May’s pot roast could be anyone’s actual favorite meal.”

Steve chuckled. “Ah, the lies that keep marriages alive.” He paused, eyes on the road. “I made colcannon for my ma this year. I hadn’t had it in years. It didn’t taste like hers, but everyone else liked it, and I knew she’d be glad I shared it with them.” Steve went quiet, fingers tapping on the steering wheel. “It still hurts, but trying to remember the good things makes it better. I guess I don’t have to tell you that,” he added ruefully, glancing at Peter. 

Peter shrugged. “My therapist kind of said the same thing to me. For a long time, all I could think about when I thought about Ben was the way he died. I couldn’t let myself remember any of the good stuff. But, um. That’s getting better.”

Steve smiled at him. “Good. I’m glad.”

It had snowed earlier in the week, north of the city. Some of it was still on the ground at the compound, glowing under the full moon. It was way colder up here, and Peter was glad he’d packed warm pajamas and his good coat, even though he didn’t need either in the city yet. 

He took his things up, noticing as he went that there was a tree in common area but not in the penthouse. He swapped out his jacket and sweater for a fleece-lined hoodie and headed down to the workshop, where FRIDAY had told him Tony was. 

He could feel the bass of whatever music Tony was playing through the floor, even if he couldn’t hear it. It dropped down to levels appropriate for Peter’s sensitive ears the second the doors to the workshop slid open. “Tony?” he said, looking around until he found him stretched out on the sofa, messing around with holographic schematics that floated above him. Peter squinted at them; he didn’t recognize the design. It might’ve been new since the last time Peter was here. 

“Hey kid,” Tony said, dismissing the schematics with a casual wave. He sat up. “Do you think you have enough clothes on? I can barely see you in that hoodie.”

“It’s cold up here,” Peter replied, pulling his hands into his sleeves. 

“It’s no colder inside the buildings than it ever is,” Tony pointed out. “We have excellent heating and AC. I never want to be able to tell how cold or hot it is outside from indoors. That’s what I have FRIDAY for. In a pinch, I’ll check my phone like a plebian.” 

“Well, it feels colder to me,” Peter said. “There’s snow on the ground and everything. It _stuck_.”

Tony shrugged. “All the more reason you shouldn’t have let Steve guilt you into coming up this weekend.”

“Wait, what? I didn’t let Steve guilt me into anything.”

“It’s fine,” Tony said, sounding tired. “I get that you have a lot of work to do. Do you want me to get Happy to take you back?”

“No!” Peter said. “What the––yeah, Steve asked me to come, and yeah, I moved some things around so I could, but I wanted to.”

“You have finals––”

“Which I’m actually prepared for,” Peter countered. “Though if you wanted to help me prep for chem, I wouldn’t say no.”

Tony didn’t answer. Peter went and sat with him on the sofa, pulling his feet up and wrapping his arms around his knees. Tony seemed to be wrestling with something. Peter left him to it and busied himself with pulling the throw off the back of the sofa and spreading it out over both their legs. That was better. 

“I don’t like that Steve called and told you I was having a meltdown,” Tony finally muttered. 

Peter frowned. “He didn’t tell me you were having a meltdown. _Are_ you having a meltdown?”

Tony sighed. “TBD. There’s a lot of stuff going on in my head.”

“Hmm.” Peter looked down and picked at some fuzz on the blanket. “Would it be better if I went back to the city? Do _you_ want Happy to take me back? I get that you maybe want to be alone with Steve, or just alone-alone.” It hurt a little to suggest it. He got it, he really did––sometimes when he was sad, he didn’t want to see anyone––but it would still sting to be sent away like that. 

“Pete,” Tony said quietly. “Peter, hey, look at me.” Peter looked up. “I’m glad you came. I don’t want you to think I’m not glad. I always want to see you, all right? And I always want more time together than we get.”

Peter felt his ears turn red. “Oh. Well, you know. Same here.” He gave Tony a smile that felt kind of weak. 

Tony pinched his big toe through the blanket. “Come on, let’s see what Steve’s cooking up. Literally.”

Steve was cooking up steaks, and salad, and some kind of crusty bread he’d picked up in the city. They ate in the kitchen around the island. Steve and Tony seemed to kind of circle each other at first, kind of warily––Peter thought they must’ve argued before Steve left for the city––but then Tony asked Steve how he’d enjoyed the new car, and Steve told Tony to go fuck himself. Tony cracked up in surprise. 

“Language,” Peter admonished Steve, which only made Tony laugh harder. 

Both of them loosened up after that. They finished eating and ended up in the media room, watching the _Die Hard_ movies in order. Peter curled up in his favorite bean bag chair with a throw and his own bowl of popcorn and studiously ignored the fact that Steve and Tony were canoodling––as May would’ve said––in one of the others. He supposed it was nice, if also kind of gross. He didn’t like it when they fought. 

Peter fell asleep somewhere in the middle of the second movie. He woke up to Tony gently shaking him. “Want to move to your bed?” he asked Peter. 

“Mmm, no,” Peter said, burrowing into the beanbag. “Comfy here.”

Tony tucked the throw over Peter more securely. “All right. Sleep tight, kid.” He passed his hand over Peter’s hair as he stood up. “FRIDAY, lights,” Peter heard Tony say, and the lights went out. Peter sighed and fell back to sleep. 

***

Peter beat Tony and Steve into the kitchen the next morning. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and started a pot of coffee and settled in with his chem book. He spent an hour or so drinking coffee, eating cereal, reviewing notes, and coming up with study questions, with some help from FRIDAY. 

He was just about done with the third chapter when Tony appeared, barefoot and damp from his shower. “Hey, Pete. Oh, there’s coffee, bless you, my son.” Tony poured himself a cup and topped Peter’s off as well. “Chemistry?”

“Yep,” Peter said, straightening up. He stretched and his back popped audibly. 

Tony puttered around the kitchen making a smoothie while Peter finished the last few pages of his chapter. “FRIDAY, can you email me these notes?” he finally said, shutting the book. 

“Of course, Peter.”

Tony slid onto the seat beside Peter and pushed a cup full of smoothie across to him. “How’s it coming?”

“Not bad,” Peter said, tasting the smoothie cautiously. Tony always put way too much kale in. Today he’d disguised it with banana and orange juice, so it was okay. “I’ve got a nice long study session with Ned and MJ tomorrow. After that, I should be pretty well set.”

“Ahh, MJ,” Tony said knowingly. “The girlfriend.”

“Not my girlfriend.”

“You ask her out yet?”

“No.”

“Kissed her yet?”

Peter scowled. “No.”

Tony paused. Peter tensed. “She kissed you yet?”

Peter felt himself flush bright red. “Maybe,” he muttered. 

“What?” Tony yelped. “When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“After homecoming this year, while Ned was in the bathroom at the diner, and because it’s none of your business and I knew you’d be embarrassing about it,” Peter replied, rolling his eyes. 

Tony stared at him incredulously. “Your first kiss was in a _diner_?”

“Yeah, so what?”

Tony shook his head. “Never mind. Does May know?”

“No, and you don’t need to tell her.” 

“Yeah, there is exactly zero chance of that,” Tony said, already taking his phone out. Peter rolled his eyes, but he didn’t really care if May knew. 

Steve came out a few minutes later, and Peter endured Tony telling Steve about _Peter’s_ first kiss, while bugging him for details that Peter refused to divulge. Not that there were a lot of details. MJ had basically turned to him after Ned had gone to the bathroom and said, “You seem really worked up about kissing me. Should I just kiss you so we can move on with our lives?”

“She sounds like Peggy,” Steve said, looking delighted when Peter finally told them this. “She kind of had to hit me over the head to get me to realize what was going on. Or, well, she almost shot me. Same thing, I guess.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “Aunt Peggy used to say, ‘Some men you have to hit with a brick.’ Was she talking about _you_?”

“Probably,” Steve said with a sigh. 

Tony stared at him. “That is still weird if I think about it too hard.”

“What is?” 

“That Aunt Peggy and I have both––”

“STOP!” Peter yelled. 

“––kissed you,” Tony finished. He smirked at Peter. “What did you think I was going to say? Ooh, do we need to have a birds and bees talk?”

“No,” Peter said firmly. “Aunt May was very thorough, and my school actually has decent sex ed. It’s very... scientific. With a healthy side of consent. We put condoms on bananas and everything.”

“Hmm,” Tony said. “Well, it’s hard to argue with that. Still, you know I’m here if you have questions. I won’t judge you. Well, I might, but I’ll keep it to myself.”

“Thanks,” Peter said wryly. 

Peter would’ve been disgruntled about the teasing, except Tony was in a much better mood than he’d expected, all things considered. After they cleaned up from breakfast, the three of them went down to the gym. Peter and Steve set up to spar, while Tony put on a pair of VR goggles and ran on a treadmill. 

Peter was stronger than Steve, the two of them had discovered a while back. But Steve was much more experienced. Peter still telegraphed all his moves, and Steve knew how to use his strength against him. Peter ended up on his back more often than not, but by the time he called uncle, he’d managed to get a few good hits of his own in. At least Steve was out of breath as he helped Peter up off the mat. The first time they’d sparred, Steve hadn’t even broken a sweat. 

They’d been going at it for a couple of hours. Tony had finished his own workout and left. Steve went to swim some laps, and Peter went to shower, muscles aching in a way they only ever did after a sparring session with Steve. 

FRIDAY said Tony was in the workshop, so Peter headed down there once he was clean. He found Tony sitting at one of the workbenches. Not working. Just sitting. And staring. Peter slowed, watching through the glass doors to the workshop. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Tony Stark doing nothing before. 

Tony looked up when the doors sighed open. “Hey, kid. You’re looking a lot better on the hand-to-hand stuff.”

“Thanks,” Peter said. “Where’d you run?”

“The back roads of Italian wine country,” Tony said. “Through the vineyards.” He pushed his chair over and picked up a pair of VR goggles. “Here. I programmed this route myself, it’s not available commercially.”

Peter put the goggles on and heard the _ping_ that meant they were connected to Tony’s goggles via bluetooth. The darkness behind the goggles resolved slowly into a wide open landscape with green rolling hills, enormous mountains on the horizon, and a lake, shimmering in the distance. The hills were landscaped with miles and miles of grapevines, beginning to turn red and gold. The sun was bright, but it was unmistakably fall. 

Tony was standing right beside him in the VR world. The commercially available version of the VR tech offered customizable but cartoonish avatars, but they were using an advanced prototype where the avatar looked just like Tony. He was wearing a different outfit than the real Tony had been––still a band shirt and jeans, just different ones. 

“Wow,” Peter said. “It’s beautiful.”

“Tuscany gets all the attention, but the best wine comes from Piedmont,” Tony said. “I might be biased, though. See that house?” He turned and pointed up the hill. 

“Yeah,” Peter said, looking up at the old stone villa on the hill. 

“That’s where my mom was raised,” Tony said. “She used to bring me here every fall until I went away to boarding school. We’d come for the crush.”

“The... crush?” 

“After they’ve harvested the grapes, they have to crush them,” Tony said. “Traditionally it was done with people’s feet. They have machines now, of course, but there’s a big party where they do some of it the old fashioned way. It was her favorite thing in the whole world, coming here.” He paused, still looking up the hill. There was no one around; Tony had either forgotten to program in people or had deliberately left them out, Peter wasn’t sure. Either way, the wide open landscape without anyone in it made him a little uneasy, city boy that he was. 

“I think that maybe those were the only times I ever saw her happy,” Tony finally said. 

“Oh.” Peter bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

VR-Tony gave a resigned sigh, along with real world Tony. “It is what it is. It probably sounds insane coming from me, but money doesn’t buy happiness. In my mom’s case, I think it bought a boatload of unhappiness.”

“But she had you,” Peter pointed out. “I’m sure that made a lot of things worth it.”

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know. The older I get, the more I think that I made it harder for her to leave Howard, if that’s what she wanted. I don’t think he would’ve let me go easily. Not that he liked me all that much, but I was the heir apparent to Stark Industries. He wasn’t going to let that out from under his thumb.”

Peter didn’t like the dark edge to Tony’s voice. It sounded too much like self-loathing. He shifted closer, both in the VR space and in the real world, until he was standing right next to him. Tony put his arm around Peter’s shoulders and cleared his throat. “Anyway, this is what the area around the villa looks like, more or less. I did it from photographs and memory, so it might not be completely right. But it’s close enough for me to go for a jog, and for me to show it to you.”

“Is the villa still there?” 

“Yep,” Tony said. “It looked like it might pass out of the family a few years ago––my mom’s uncle owned it, and he had a gambling problem, so when he died, he owed a lot of money. I paid off the debts and bought the place myself. I meant to go, but then Thanos and the snap and the reversal... I never got around to it.”

“You should go and take Steve,” Peter said. “He’d love this. He’d spend all day drawing.”

Tony smiled. “He would.” He took a quick breath, almost as though he was bracing himself, and added, “You wouldn’t want to go, though?”

“Of course I want to go,” Peter said. “It’s just––I don’t know, it seems kind of... romantic? I thought you’d want to go with just Steve.”

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know. I came here with my mom. It feels more like a place I’d go for, um, family time, I guess.” He hesitated. “I was thinking maybe you and me and Steve and May could go next June after you graduate. It’ll be hot but if we go early, it won’t be too bad. The crush is in October, so it’ll be in the middle of your semester.”

“That’d be awesome,” Peter said. “May’s always wanted to go to Italy, I think. She’d love that.”

“Yeah?” Tony said, looking at him almost shyly. 

“Yeah!”

“Okay,” Tony said. “I’ll talk to May about it, then.” He looked up at the house one last time, and seemed to shake himself. “Okay, I’m out, I think. But stay and look around if you want.”

“Nah,” Peter said, reaching up to end the VR session. “I’d rather wait for the real thing.”

***

Peter and Tony spent most of the afternoon in the workshop. Peter was alternately studying and working on a new web fluid formula, and Tony was tinkering with something. They were both unusually quiet, but it wasn’t a bad kind of quiet. 

Around four, Peter went upstairs to help Steve start cooking. He was surprised to look outside and see that it’d started snowing, and not just a light flurry either. The entire compound was already dusted with powder and more was coming down. Peter hoped he’d be able to get home the next morning––though he supposed that if push came to shove, Tony could fly him.

Steve was making the meat sauce for the lasagna, and he set Peter to work, first on on the tiramisu and then on chopping vegetables and grating cheese for the lasagna. The two of them worked together peaceably, some old fashioned Christmas music coming from FRIDAY’s speakers, until the elevator pinged and Tony emerged. 

He stopped at the edge of the kitchen and took a deep breath. “Wow, it smells amazing in here.”

“Taste this, tell me if it’s right,” Steve said, offering Tony a spoonful of the meat sauce.

Tony tasted it. “Yeah, that’s... that’s perfect,” he said, looking stunned. 

“Great,” Steve said, looking pleased. “I’ll just start putting the lasagna together then. It should be about an hour. Peter, are you done grating the cheese?”

“Yup,” Peter said, dusting the last few bits of cheese off the grater. “What can I do next?” 

“I’ve got it from here, I think,” Steve said. “Why don’t you two go and hang out on the couch? I’ll be there once this is in the oven. Oh, get some of the fresh mozzarella out of the fridge and slice up the bread I got. We can have that as a snack while we wait for the lasagna.”

Peter put the ball of mozzarella on a plate and started slicing bread. After a moment, Tony came around the island and got the bottle of fancy olive oil that Steve had bought in the city and drizzled a little over the cheese. “My mom used to do it like this,” he said, and then took a pinch of sea salt out of the container that lived on the counter and sprinkled some on top of it. 

Steve leaned over and kissed Tony. It seemed to take Tony by surprise, but after a few seconds he tilted his face up and kissed Steve back. It wasn’t a very long kiss, but it was more than they usually did in front of Peter. When Steve pulled away, Tony was sort of smiling. 

He and Peter went into the living room and sprawled on the sofa. Peter asked FRIDAY to put on the _Rudolph_ claymation movie. 

Peter leaned against Tony’s shoulder and nibbled on a piece of bread with some of the cheese. “So.”

“Mmm?” Tony said, distractedly, not looking up from his phone. 

Peter nudged him with his shoulder. “I asked you yesterday if you were having a meltdown and you said, ‘TBD.’ Any updates?”

Tony shook his head. “No meltdowns. At least not the kind I used to be famous for.” 

“Good,” Peter said. Tony put his arm around him and pulled him into his side. 

Steve joined them once the lasagna was in the oven. He sat on Tony’s other side, the two of them bracketing him as they watched the movie. It was one of the first movies Peter remembered ever watching, and he might’ve been young enough that he’d been watching it with his parents, not May and Ben. But he couldn’t really remember much more than watching the movie and feeling safe.

The movie finished just as the lasagna came out of the oven. Steve pulled it out, and the three of them threw together a quick salad to go with it. It smelled amazing, as good as any Italian food Peter had ever had in a restaurant, and when he tasted his first bite, it was even better. 

“Whoa,” Peter said. “This is really good, Steve.”

“Yeah?” Steve said, looking uncertain. He glanced at Tony. “Tony? Does it taste right to you?”

Tony nodded, looking as though he couldn’t speak, his eyes suspiciously bright. Steve leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, and then turned to ask Peter about his plans for winter break. The two of them chatted about the upcoming holidays—-apparently most of the current Avengers and a few of the former ones were planning to be in residence, and Clint was even bringing his family—and gave Tony a bit of space to pull himself together. Not too much space, though, Peter noticed; Steve kept his hand on the back of Tony’s neck the whole time. 

After dinner, they cleared things away together, loading the dishwasher and packing the leftover lasagna into the fridge. Steve served up slices of tiramisu and made a pot of coffee—decaf, to Tony’s obvious displeasure—and they decamped back to the living room. 

“More _Die Hard_?” Peter asked. “Or maybe _Muppets Christmas Carol_? May and I watch that one every year.”

“Actually,” Tony cleared his throat, “I was wondering if we could watch _Casablanca_? It was my mom’s favorite movie. I haven’t seen it in... probably thirty-five years? Not since she died, anyway.”

“Sure,” Peter said. “I’ve never seen it.”

“I have,” Steve said. “It was on the AFI Top 100 Films list I worked my way through after I got out of the ice. I liked it, though, I’d be happy to watch it again.”

“Thanks,” Tony said, looking away from them both. Embarrassed, Peter thought, though he wasn’t sure why. But he guessed that Tony wasn’t used to having other people to do this kind of thing with. He’d been an only child, and when his parents had died, he’d probably grieved alone. 

It made Peter unspeakably sad to think of seventeen year old Tony. Sad enough that he didn’t hesitate before curling up right against Tony’s shoulder. Tony put his arm around Peter, tucking him against his side; Steve had his arm around Tony. 

Tony might’ve been alone, that awful night in 1991, Peter thought. But he wasn’t alone anymore.

***

Peter fell asleep in the middle of the movie again. He woke up in his own bed, with no memory of how he’d gotten there. He wondered if Steve had carried him. The idea was kind of embarrassing. Peter decided he was better off not knowing for sure. 

It was early, but they’d planned on leaving early, so that Peter could be at Ned’s by ten for his study session. Peter got dressed and went out to the kitchen to see about breakfast. Maybe reheated lasagna. Or even tiramisu, if no one was around to tell him he couldn’t. 

Tony was waiting for him, to his surprise, with both coffee and a stack of toast at the ready. He looked bleary-eyed, yawning into his mug. “Morning,” he mumbled.

“Good morning,” Peter said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “What are you doing up? I thought Steve was taking me back.”

“He got called out in the middle of the night,” Tony said, looking disgruntled. 

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

Tony waved his hand. “Yeah, Natasha and Sam just needed some back-up. He shouldn’t be gone more than a couple days. Toast? Sorry it’s not a full breakfast.”

“That’s fine,” Peter said, grabbing a piece. Tony pushed the butter, jam, and peanut butter toward him. “Ned’s mom always feeds us too much when we study at his place.”

“Speaking of which, when are you supposed to be there?”

“Ten,” Peter said, glancing at his watch. It was a quarter to eight now.

“We’d better get going then.” 

Tony stood up and drained his coffee mug. Peter went to get the few things he’d brought with him—mostly just his books—and met him in the garage. Tony had made up travel mugs of coffee for both of them. Peter accepted his gratefully and followed Tony past all the fancy, fun cars to a blue SUV.

“All the roads should be plowed, but I’m not taking chances,” Tony said by way of explanation. 

The roads were plowed—and mostly empty, too, on a snowy Sunday morning. This far out of the city, the snow actually stayed white and pretty. It was warm in the car, and Peter trusted Tony behind the wheel. He relaxed into the soft leather, tempted to doze off. 

Tony cleared his throat, and Peter blinked himself more awake. “Thank you, for coming up,” Tony said. “I know I didn’t act like it when you got here, but I was glad to see you.”

“It really wasn’t a problem,” Peter said. “I was glad to come. Did it, um... did it help?”

Tony nodded. He swallowed. “It did. I’ve never done much to mark the day. I don’t think I’ve been to the mausoleum for twenty-five years, and I don’t want to go—it’s a terrible place, really cold in all senses of the word. But this year... I don’t know, kid,” Tony sighed. “I’ve been trying to figure out why it’s hit me so much harder this year.”

Peter looked out the window. “Some days I don’t think about Uncle Ben all that much. Some days I think about him a lot. Sometimes I come home and Aunt May’s been crying because there was a song on the radio that reminded her of him. I don’t know that it has to make sense.”

“I guess not,” Tony said. “It’s been a long time now, though, almost thirty years. They’ve been gone for much longer than I knew them. And it’s not––I don’t miss Howard. Maybe that’s a horrible thing to say, but I don’t. He wasn’t a good dad. Whenever...” Tony hesitated. “Whenever I have to figure out what to say to you, I think, ‘What would Howard say in this situation?’ and then I say the exact opposite of that.”

Peter turned his head and smiled at him. “That seems to be a good rule of thumb so far.”

Tony glanced over at him. “Yeah?” Peter nodded. “Good,” he said, sounding equal parts relieved and satisfied. “So... I don’t really miss Howard. But I do miss my mom. She wasn’t a perfect mom, but she tried, and...” Tony’s voice caught, and he swallowed again, audibly. “And I wish she could have seen me now. There were a lot of times in the past when I was glad she couldn’t, because I thought she’d be disappointed in me, but I wish she could be here now. I never came out to her, and I don’t really know what she’d think about that, but I think... I think she’d like Steve.”

“It’s hard not to like Steve,” Peter said. “I tried. It didn’t work.”

Tony smiled. He took a deep breath. “And I think she’d also like you. I know she’d like you, in fact. I never thought I’d have kids, and I wish she was here to meet you.”

“Oh,” Peter said, surprised. 

“Sorry,” Tony said, glancing over at him. “That’s a lot to lay on you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Peter said. “I wish I could meet her, too. All my grandparents are dead. I knew my dad and Ben’s dad when I was really little, but I don’t really remember him. I always thought it’d be fun to have a grandma.”

Tony chuckled. “Not sure what she’d think of being called a grandma. She put a lot of work into not aging.” 

Peter grinned. “Well, that wouldn’t be a deal breaker on my end.” He looked down at his hands. “My therapist says it’s good to feel things. Especially grief. Because when we don’t, it comes out in other ways, or it jumps up and bites us when we least expect it.”

“Yeah. That’s true.” Tony cleared his throat. “Anyway. I’m glad you came.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apropos of nothing to do with this fic, but if you are over 18 and live in the US, please vote on (or before) Tuesday, 6 November. Last call for democracy. For reals.
> 
> Imagine the face Peter Parker will make at you if you do not exercise your democratic right to vote. Imagine how sad you'll make him. You don't want to make Peter sad, do you? You do not. So fucking vote.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's crappy immune system and missing spleen catch up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Fuzzyboo for continuing to beta!
> 
> You can tell this is the one I've been waiting to write, because it's almost twice as long as all the others.

Tony’s hospital room was dark and quiet when Steve entered it. It was after midnight; the phone call with Natasha and Hill had taken longer than it should have, but Steve wasn’t going to have to get on a plane while his partner was recovering from pneumonia, so he supposed it was a win. 

Tony was asleep, breathing easily at last. He’d graduated to a nasal cannula that morning, and it was much less cumbersome than the face mask. He still had dark smudges under his eyes, and his hair was lank and greasy from going unwashed for several days. Bruce said he could leave the infirmary tomorrow as long as he continued to progress, and Steve thought the first thing he’d probably want would be a proper bath. 

Peter was asleep in the armchair beside Tony’s bed, under a blanket. There were dark smudges under his eyes, too. Steve didn’t think he’d slept in an actual bed since he’d arrived at the compound almost a week ago. It had been touch and go for a while there, and Peter had pretty much refused to leave Tony’s side. He’d barely slept, and he’d eaten only when someone had forced him. Steve suspected that he’d thought that if he left for any reason, Tony would die.

It hadn’t been an entirely irrational fear. 

But they were out of the woods now, Bruce had assured them. Tomorrow they’d take Tony upstairs and tuck him into the bed he and Steve shared, and maybe they could all get some real rest. 

Steve leaned over and pressed his lips to Tony’s hairline. Tony sighed but didn’t wake. Peter did, though, all at once, with a gasp. “What?” he said, throwing his blanket off. 

“It’s just me,” Steve said quietly. “It’s okay.”

“Oh.” Peter’s eyes went immediately to the monitors. Steve saw him check pulse, oxygen saturation, temperature, respiration rate, and finally let his breath out. 

“Sorry,” Steve said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said, slumping. “You don’t have to leave, do you?”

Steve shook his head. “No, thank God.” 

Peter looked as relieved as Steve felt. “Bruce came by earlier,” Peter said. He pulled his feet up onto the chair. Steve retrieved his blanket and handed it to him. “He was pretty happy with how Tony was doing. He said his blood work looked much better than it did just yesterday.”

“Good,” Steve said. “Did Tony eat?”

Peter grimaced. “Not really. He said he felt nauseous.”

“One thing at a time.”

“I guess.” Peter fell silent, still watching Tony. 

“Did you eat?” 

Peter shrugged. “I ate Tony’s pudding.”

“Peter...”

“I wasn’t hungry,” Peter muttered. 

“You can’t skip meals,” Steve told him. “Not with metabolisms like ours.” Peter shook his head, jaw set mulishly. “Promise me you’ll eat a real breakfast tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I promise,” Peter said with an eye roll that Tony would have described as “pure teenage sass.” 

Steve decided that was good enough for now. “I’m going to sit up for a bit. Why don’t you take the roll-away bed?” 

“I’m okay.”

“You’re exhausted,” Steve said, as gently as possible. “I’ll sit up.”

Peter looked like he was going to argue, but they both knew Steve was right. After a few seconds, he nodded, and got up to stumble the few steps to the roll-away bed he and Steve had been switching off using. There wasn’t room for a second one in the hospital room, but even if there had been, Steve didn't think they would have used it. One of them had been awake at all times during the worst of it. 

Peter collapsed onto the bed, pulled the blankets over himself, and was out like a light in seconds. Steve sat in the armchair and pulled out his phone, intending to read for a bit before catching a few hours of rest himself. 

Rhodey had texted him from the other side of the world. _Status update? How’s our boy?_

_Better. Nasal cannula instead of the mask. We can take him home tomorrow._

_That’s great. And the Spider-Kid?_

Steve glanced over at Peter. _Exhausted. I don’t think he quite believes we’re through the worst of it._

 _I don’t blame him_ , Rhodey wrote back. _That was scary as hell. How are YOU?_

Steve didn’t know how to even begin answering that question. _Tired. Relieved. I never want to be back in this hospital room ever again._

_Take care of yourself. And Tony, of course, but don’t forget yourself._

_Thanks, Rhodey. I will._

Steve put the phone down in his lap. It was true that he was exhausted. He’d been taking care of himself better than Peter but not much better. He should at least try to sleep, he knew. He wasn’t sure he could. 

His phone buzzed. He looked down at it. 

_He’s out of danger, Cap. Go to sleep._

Steve leaned his head back and closed his eyes. 

***

The next morning, with the help of Bruce and one of the nurses, they loaded up all the stuff that’d migrated into the hospital room to take back upstairs. Tony himself was the last to go, in a wheelchair he didn’t even protest.

“I want a shower,” he groused. “I feel so gross.”

“How about a bath?” Steve countered, not even wanting to picture Tony standing in the shower right now.

“Yeah, okay,” Tony conceded. He looked up at Peter, who was pushing the wheelchair. “How’re you doing, kid?”

“Fine.”

“Should you be going back to school?”

“I’ve got my assignments.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I’m not going back to school,” Peter said flatly. “Not until you’re better. May told them it was a family emergency, and I’ve got my assignments, I’m not falling behind.”

“Okay,” Tony said, apparently deciding not to argue. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Peter said, and pushed the wheelchair into the elevator. 

Someone had come through and cleaned the penthouse, for which Steve was grateful. He’d come up himself in the early morning before the cleaning crew came and changed the sheets on the bed, so they weren’t stained with dried fever sweat from the first few days of Tony’s illness, before things had taken a turn for the worse. 

Steve knew he needed to give Peter a job to do while he helped Tony in the bath, so he asked him to make breakfast for all of them. “A real breakfast,” he reminded him. “You and I need calories. Neither of us has been eating enough.”

Peter nodded, but he still watched anxiously as Steve helped Tony stand up and walk into the bathroom. He hovered in the doorway as Steve sat Tony down on the closed toilet and started pulling together what they’d need. FRIDAY was already running the water in the tub, steam rising gently along with a scent like mint and lemon.

“Peter, I’m okay,” Tony said gently. “Steve’s got me. And I actually think I could eat some toast this morning. And maybe yogurt—Bruce said it’d be good for me, because of the antibiotics, remember?”

Peter nodded. “Okay.” He shot one last look behind him and left, closing the door. 

Tony let out a long breath. “Christ. I scared the hell out of him, didn’t I?”

“Not just him,” Steve murmured. 

Tony looked up at him. “I know. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Steve said. “All right, in you get.” Tony leaned on Steve’s arm as Steve helped him into the tub. He settled in the warm water with his back against the sloped end of the tub. Steve placed a rolled up towel under his head. 

“Thanks,” Tony murmured. “C’mere.” Steve leaned down and Tony kissed him, closed-mouthed and chaste, more a promise than anything else. “Love you. I don’t say it much, I know.”

“You say it enough,” Steve said. “I love you, too.”

Tony smiled up at him, brown eyes gone unusually soft with affection. Peter definitely hadn’t been the only one afraid. Steve had been, too. And so had Tony, for all that he’d been unconscious for large parts of it. None of them were going to recover from this overnight.

Steve helped Tony wash his hair, taking his time working the shampoo in, rubbing small circles on Tony’s scalp with the pads of his fingers. He rinsed it out with handfuls of water, careful to shield his eyes. Then he sat Tony up in the tub and helped him wash off days of hospital and fever and fear. 

Shaving, Steve saved for last. He ran a little more hot water in the tub first, so that Tony wouldn’t get chilled. “FRIDAY, how’s Peter doing?” he asked. Tony, who had gone limp as a dishrag against the tub, opened his eyes.

“Peter is making pancakes and talking to his aunt,” FRIDAY said. “His vitals indicate calm.”

“Good,” Steve said, deciding that meant he could take his time. 

A hot towel for Tony’s neck. The shaving cream he loved that made Steve cringe when he saw the price tag. Steve’s own straight razor, which he disinfected carefully first. 

“Just shave it all off,” Tony said, tilting his head back. “It’ll regrow.”

“Okay.” Steve rested his thumb lightly over Tony’s pulse point for a few seconds, feeling it beating away, strong and steady. There had been times in the last few days when it hadn’t been either of those things, and it had terrified him. 

Tony was watching him through half-slitted eyes, Steve realized after a few seconds. He took a deep breath and dragged the razor through the shaving cream, two down and one up, rinsing it out in the bathwater between strokes. He kept his touch light, using just a little more pressure to turn Tony’s head one way or the other when he needed to. Tony stayed soft and pliant, eyes mostly closed; every once in a while, Steve would catch a glint of pupil underneath. 

Finally, he used the hot towel to wipe away the last of the shaving cream. Tony sighed. “That felt really nice,” he murmured, sounding sleepy and a little out of it. “Thanks.”

“It was nice for me, too,” Steve said. He got a big, fluffy towel from the cabinet in bathroom and set it on the tile next to the tub. He helped Tony stand and step out, and then he wrapped him up in it and had him sit on the edge. He got a smaller towel and gently dried Tony’s hair, grinning when it fluffed it all up. “Let me get you some pajamas.”

He went out into the bedroom and found Peter waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Hey,” Steve said, rummaging around in Tony’s dresser for a set of pajamas. 

“Breakfast is ready,” Peter said quietly. “I made pancakes and eggs.”

“That’s great, thank you,” Steve said. “Let me just get Tony into bed and then I’ll come out and help you bring it in, okay?”

Peter nodded. He cast an anxious look toward the bathroom and left. 

Clean, shaved, dressed in pajamas and a silk bathrobe instead of a hospital gown, Tony looked healthier than he had in days. He insisted he didn’t want to be in bed, so he laid down on top of the covers, propped up on a mountain of pillows, and let Steve tuck a thick, soft blanket over him. 

Peter had dished the pancakes and eggs onto plates by the time Steve came out. He had Tony’s breakfast on its own tray––the requested yogurt and toast, plus a little dish of fruit. Steve made tea for Tony and poured coffee for himself and Peter. 

Peter was so quiet, it was unnerving. Steve had known Peter long enough now to know just how uncharacteristic that was for him. He almost asked Peter if he was all right, but he had the feeling he knew what answer he’d get: “Fine.” Even though Peter wasn’t fine. Even though none of them were fine after the last couple of days, and Steve knew that Peter was struggling to deal with almost losing Tony after losing both his parents and his uncle. 

Steve sat next to Tony on the bed, their shoulders brushing together, and Peter sat facing them, leaning against the footboard. Tony ate more than he had since he’d gotten sick, and Steve managed to get down three pancakes and a whole pile of eggs. 

Peter picked at his pancakes, ate a few mouthfuls of eggs, and then seemed to give up. He sipped at his coffee, which at least had cream and sugar, Steve supposed. 

Steve wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. “Did you get enough to eat?” Tony asked Peter when he started to gather up the dishes to take back to the kitchen. 

“I’m okay. I ate while I was cooking,” Peter said, and took the stacked dishes out without giving Tony the chance to call him on his bald-faced lie.

Tony looked at Steve and sighed. “Yep,” Steve agreed. “What do we do?”

Tony hesitated, frowning. “He can’t keep not eating. We’re giving it twenty-four hours and then we’re calling in the big guns. May,” he clarified, when Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “She usually has Thursday and Friday off anyway.” 

They spent the afternoon watching movies on the TV in the bedroom. Steve asked FRIDAY to run a Pixar marathon at low volume and with the subtitles turned on, so that anyone who wanted to could sleep. He stretched out on the bed next to Tony; Peter hemmed and hawed, looking at the sofa as though wondering if he should sit there, until Tony patted the bed next to him. Peter curled up so his head was almost in Tony’s lap. Tony’s hand landed on his hair and stroked it gently. 

Tony fell asleep half an hour into _Toy Story_. Peter lasted maybe another fifteen minutes. 

Steve was tired, too, after his night in the chair. He would’ve liked to sleep. But he found himself awake, watching Peter and Tony more than the movie, and wishing he knew for sure that he could protect them both from anything that might hurt them. It was a strange feeling––love, protectiveness, and despair in equal measure, because he knew he couldn’t protect them, and not only because they were all superheroes. The infection that’d taken up residence in Tony’s lungs didn’t have anything to do with Iron Man. It was just an everyday infection, exacerbated by Tony’s reduced lung capacity and a bad immune system made worse by having his spleen removed six months ago. 

Steve sighed to himself. He reached out and tucked himself closer to Tony, resting his head against Tony’s shoulder. He couldn’t protect them, but for now, they were both right here, as safe as any of them ever were. 

Dinner that night was Chinese food. Tony insisted that he couldn’t eat any more “bland hospital crap,” so they ordered hot and sour soup and dumplings from Vanessa’s. Steve was dubious, but Tony ate most of his soup and even had one of Steve’s pork dumplings. Peter ate his scallion pancake and dumplings with more enthusiasm than Steve had seen him eat anything since Tony had gotten sick. All three of them managed to stay awake for _Up_ afterward. 

It was almost ten o’clock by the time the movie was over, and Tony was looking wiped out again. Steve stopped FRIDAY before she could start the next one. “I think it might be time for bed,” he said.

Tony yawned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, guess so. You gonna be okay on your own tonight, kid?” he asked Peter. “Bet it’ll be nice to sleep in a bed that doesn’t have wheels. And without my snoring.”

It took Peter a second to react, and when he did, his head rocked back like he’d been slapped. “Oh,” he said, faintly. “Yeah. I guess.” 

He didn’t look like it was going to be nice, Steve thought. In fact, he looked like he might start crying. He stood up, slowly, reluctantly. “I could sleep on the couch,” he said weakly. 

Tony gave him a look. “Peter.”

Peter ducked his head. “Yeah. I know. Um.” He bent down and hugged Tony. 

“Sleep tight, kid,” Tony said, hugging him back. 

“You too,” Peter said, his voice suspiciously rough. “Good night, Steve,” he added, giving Steve an awkward little wave as he went to leave. 

“Good night, Peter,” Steve said. Peter closed the door behind him. 

Tony waited about five seconds and then sighed heavily. “Well, I feel like an asshole. That was the right thing to do, right?”

“Probably,” Steve said, even though he felt terrible for Peter. “We could’ve let him stay in here, but at some point he’s going to have to go back to the city. He needs to learn that he can leave the room without something awful happening to you.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “I know. He just looked like I’d kicked his puppy.”

“He’s resilient,” Steve said. “He’ll be okay. Come on, you should brush your teeth before bed.” He helped Tony stand and shuffle into the bathroom. He was steady enough on his feet that Steve felt comfortable leaving him at the sink while he went and turned the bed down. He physically tucked Tony in, which made Tony look simultaneously touched and amused. 

“Do I need to do something about _your_ separation anxiety?” Tony asked. 

“No, because I’m not going away to college in seven months,” Steve said, climbing in on the other side. 

“Don’t remind me,” Tony said, sliding down and turning over onto his side. Steve spooned up behind him, wrapping an arm around Tony’s chest. Things felt completely normal for the first time in days. This could have been any night before Tony got sick.

“Well, he’s not going anywhere tomorrow,” Steve said. He pressed a kiss to the back of Tony’s neck. “I love you.”

“You too. Good night,” Tony murmured. “Lights, FRI.”

The lights went out. Steve held Tony tight and finally managed to sleep. 

***

Steve woke with the sun the next morning. He glanced at his phone, where FRIDAY was still displaying Tony’s vitals, and saw that his temperature was nearly normal, as were his pulse and his oxygen levels. He had slept well and was still deeply asleep. 

Steve hadn’t been running in days. He didn’t want to do his usual double marathon, he decided, but he could probably manage a single one, enough to take the edge of his restlessness. He got up and dressed in his running clothes, making as little noise as possible. Tony didn’t even stir. 

Steve opened the bedroom door and tripped over Peter.

Almost, anyway. He caught himself just in time, grabbing the door jamb to keep from falling. Peter was asleep, sitting up against the wall next to the door, legs blocking it. 

Steve looked down at him and sighed. He crouched down and very gently shook Peter’s shoulder. 

Peter startled awake anyway. “What? Tony—”

“Hey, no, Tony’s okay,” Steve said. “What’s going on? Have you been out here all night?”

“No, no,” Peter said, rubbing his eyes. “Maybe, like, half of it? I couldn’t sleep in my room. What time is it?”

“Early,” Steve said. “I got up to go for a run.”

“Outside? It’s February.”

Steve shrugged. “It’s not that cold, and I have insulated running clothes. Once I get going, I don’t feel it.”

“Hmm,” Peter said dubiously.

Steve stood up and offered Peter a hand, which Peter accepted, wincing. Sleeping sitting up on a hard floor was rough on anyone. “Go lie down with Tony,” Steve said, giving him a nudge toward the bedroom. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Okay,” Peter said, a little warily. “You’re not mad?”

Steve frowned. “Why would I be mad?”

Peter shrugged, looking away. “Tony told me to go sleep in my room. I’m sure you guys don’t want a seventeen year old kid hovering all the time.”

“Peter,” Steve said, a little astonished, “no. That’s not how we feel at all. Have I said anything to make you feel that way?”

“No,” Peter admitted. “Just... last night, when Tony kind of... kicked me out? I didn’t want to go.”

Steve looked down at Peter, who still wasn’t looking at him. He rested a hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeezed. That was the most physical affection he’d ever dared show Peter, but it suddenly didn’t seem like enough.

“Can I hug you?” Steve asked, hesitantly. 

Peter nodded, jerkily, and almost fell into Steve’s chest. Steve wrapped his arms around him and held him tight. “This has been really hard,” Steve murmured. 

“Yeah,” Peter said, pressing his forehead into Steve’s shoulder. “I was really scared we were gonna lose...”

“I know,” Steve said. “Me too.”

Peter swallowed. “I’m sorry, I know I haven’t exactly... held it together.”

Steve blinked. “What?”

“I tried,” Peter said, voice cracking. “I really tried, but I just––I got so scared––”

“Peter,” Steve said, tightening his arms around Peter, “are you kidding me? You’ve been so strong. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. The only way I could sleep at all was knowing that you were with him.”

“Really?” Peter said, looking up at him. “I thought I was in the way.”

“God, no,” Steve said, pulling away to look him in the eye. “You weren’t in the way at all. And you’re not in the way now. Unless you sleep in the doorway, I suppose.”

Peter didn’t laugh, but he did smile a little. “Sorry. I just... I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to bother you, but...”

Steve had a sudden realization, and it made him feel like a jerk and an idiot. “Did you have an anxiety attack?”

Peter nodded, looking away again. “It wasn’t a bad one. I told FRIDAY not to wake you guys up. But after that I couldn’t stay in my bed anymore.”

Steve squeezed Peter’s shoulder one last time. “Go lie down, get some real rest. I’ll be back soon.”

“Thanks,” Peter said. He slipped through the bedroom door and pulled it shut behind him. Steve stayed where he was, eavesdropping shamelessly, wanting to know that Peter was all right. He heard the rustling of the covers, and then Tony said sleepily, “Hey kid.”

“Hi,” Peter said. “Is this okay? Steve said it was okay.”

“Yeah, it’s okay. Are you––is something wrong?” Tony asked, sounding worried. 

“No, just... had some trouble sleeping.”

Peter sounded close to tears, and Steve’s heart broke. “Oh kid,” he heard Tony said. “C’mere. It’s okay.”

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled. 

“Don’t apologize. You comfortable?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m right here, okay? Get some sleep. It’ll be better after you get some sleep.”

Steve crept away from the door. He grabbed his water bottle out of the fridge and took the elevator down to the ground floor. It _was_ really cold out, but he hadn’t been lying to Peter––after the first half mile or so, he didn’t really feel it. He hated treadmills, so unless it was dangerously cold, he ran outside most days.

He let his mind go blank as he ran the path along the lake on the compound’s grounds. The edges were frozen, but the ice got thinner and thinner until black water lapped at it, a dozen yards out. It was the first time in days that Steve had been able to let go of the fear and the worry. Even last night, lying in bed next to Tony, he hadn’t been able to. But for a few minutes, in the bracing cold of a February morning, he was able to just live in his body. 

It left him feeling better than a full night’s sleep in his own bed had. By the time he’d nearly circled back to the compound’s main residential building, cutting his run short by about half, his head felt much clearer. He slowed to a walk and checked the time. It was almost eight. “FRIDAY, can you call May Parker for me?” he said into his comlink. 

“Of course, Captain.”

There was a brief silence, and then May picked up. “Captain Rogers?” she said, sounding anxious. “Is Tony––Peter said he was doing better––”

“No, no, Tony’s fine,” Steve assured her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh,” she said, with palpable relief. “I’m so glad to hear that. How can I help you, Captain?”

“Steve, please,” he said. “And I’m calling because I’m worried about Peter.” Briefly, he told her about what had happened that morning, and also about how quiet Peter had been, how he wasn’t eating. “Tony mentioned that you usually have Thursday and Friday off,” he finally concluded. “I think Peter could use some extra moral support, if you’re able to make it up here.”

“Of course,” she said. “I was thinking about coming up, but I didn’t want to intrude if Tony wasn’t up for visitors.”

“I think he’d like to see you,” Steve said. “And I know Peter would. Do you need a ride?”

“No, Tony bought us a car for Peter’s sixteenth birthday,” May said, a little dryly. Steve could only imagine how that must’ve gone over. He didn’t know May Parker all that well, but Peter was fiercely independent, and Steve had to imagine he’d learned that somewhere. “I should be there between eight and nine tonight.”

“We’ll save you some dinner,” Steve promised. 

“Thank you. And thanks for calling and letting me know what’s going on.”

“No problem. See you soon.” Steve disconnected. 

He stood for a moment, looking up the road toward the cluster of buildings at the top of the hill. He was half a mile from the main residence. He decided to sprint it.

***

Bruce was just coming out of Tony’s room when the elevator dropped Steve off in the penthouse. “Good morning,” Steve said. “How’s the patient?”

“On the mend,” Bruce said, smiling. “His fever is down, and his lungs sound much better. It’s going to take him a couple weeks to get his strength back, though. I don’t want him back in the suit for a month, barring an emergency.” 

Steve snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“Don’t I know it,” Bruce said wryly. His mouth twisted, the smile turning worried. “So... Peter.”

“I know,” Steve said heavily. 

“He’s asleep still. Tony said he didn’t get much rest last night, and that he was... distressed earlier.”

“He was,” Steve sighed. “His aunt is coming up tonight. I’m hoping she’ll know what to do.”

Bruce nodded. “Let me know if I can help.”

“Come for lunch tomorrow?” Steve suggested. “Bring whoever else is around.”

“I think Nat and Sam are getting back tonight,” Bruce said. “I’m sure they’ll want to see Tony. But let’s keep things quiet. I don’t want him getting worked up over anything.”

“Agreed,” Steve said. Bruce left. Steve grabbed a shake and two water bottles out of the fridge. He’d make tea and breakfast for Tony after his shower, but hydration was important.

Tony was sitting up in bed, messing around on his tablet—the first time in days that Steve had seen Tony with a piece of technology in his hands. It was an enormous and unexpected relief, as though something wrong had righted itself. 

“Thanks,” Tony said, accepting the water bottle with a smile. Steve bent down and kissed him. Peter was asleep with his face buried in Steve’s own pillow. He didn’t stir. 

“I’m gonna shower,” Steve said quietly.

Tony glanced toward the bathroom. “Mind if I join you? Bruce said steam was good for my lungs.”

“Of course,” Steve said. He was also sure that Tony wanted the chance to talk to him in private about Peter. He helped Tony up and into the bathroom. Steve shut the door as gently as possible, so as not to wake Peter, and the two of them stripped down. FRIDAY started the shower and steam began filling the small space. 

Tony laid a towel out on the bench in the shower and sat down on it, leaning against the wall of the shower with his eyes closed. He looked like he needed a few good meals, but otherwise he was looking a lot better, Steve thought, eyeing him critically. He ducked under the spray and started soaping up.

“So,” Tony said. “What the hell happened this morning with Peter?”

Steve filled him in on how he’d found Peter sleeping in the hallway, though he largely skipped telling him about about their conversation; that seemed private, between Steve and Peter, and he didn’t want Tony to apologize again for how badly he’d scared them. Finally, Steve told him about his call with May. “I hope I didn’t overstep,” he added, cautiously.

Tony shook his head. “No, I was just thinking that i should call her after all. I’m glad she’s coming up. I’m not sure what to do, to be honest.”

Steve sighed. “I think making him leave last night was a mistake. Or at least not making it clear he could come back if he needed to.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, echoing his sigh. 

Tony went silent. His head was tipped back against the wall, his eyes closed, breathing in the faintly scented steam. Steve finished washing his hair, and then he stood under the spray for a minute, just letting it pound the tension out of his neck and shoulders. 

“You are so pretty,” Tony said. 

Steve opened his eyes and realized Tony was watching him, eyes half-lidded and heavy. “Thanks, I guess?” Steve said, feeling his ears turn red. 

Tony patted the shower bench next to him. Steve sat down, and Tony shifted forward, so Steve could fold him into his arms. Tony rested his head against Steve’s chest, and Steve breathed deep, letting himself revel in the skin-to-skin contact. “This is nice,” he murmured. Tony hummed in agreement and rubbed his cheek against Steve’s shoulder like a cat. 

They might have stayed there longer, but only a minute or two later, Steve’s stomach gave a demanding growl, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten yet. Tony chuckled and pulled away. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” Steve admitted. “I was thinking about making eggs. You want some?”

Tony cocked his head, considering. “Maybe. I’ll try, anyway.”

Peter slept all morning. Steve made breakfast for him and Tony—Tony did manage a few bites of eggs, and a whole piece of toast—and then the two of them settled in on the sofa, Steve with his sketch pad and Tony with his tablet. They didn’t turn on the TV, not wanting to wake Peter. They could have gone out to the living room, but Steve knew Tony didn’t want Peter to wake up alone.

Steve was starting to think about lunch, and whether he should hit the training room that afternoon for a couple hours, when Peter finally started to wake up. He seemed to have a hard time of it. A couple of times he stirred and then stilled, apparently falling back to sleep, but the third time it seemed to stick. Tony must’ve thought so, too, because he got up and moved over to the bed, sitting against the headboard. He put his hand on Peter’s back and rubbed slow circles. 

Peter sighed. “Tony?” he mumbled sleepily. 

“Right here, kid,” Tony said. “You have a nice nap?”

Peter turned his head so his face wasn’t buried in the pillow. “Yeah. I feel a lot better.”

“Good.” Tony was still rubbing circles on Peter’s back. 

“You hungry?” Steve asked. “You missed breakfast, but I was just thinking about making lunch.”

“Not yet,” Peter said. He rubbed his eyes. “Sorry about everything. It all seems really dramatic now.”

Tony made a noncommittal noise. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Peter said, looking embarrassed. “It won’t happen again.”

“It’s partly my fault,” Tony said. “I should’ve talked to you, instead of telling you that you had to leave. If it happens again, just come in and sleep on the sofa in here, okay? Don’t sleep on the floor in the hall.”

“I shouldn’t have to sleep on the sofa,” Peter said, sounding angry—with himself, mostly, Steve suspected. “I’m not five years old, I shouldn’t have to come in here because I’ve had a bad dream.”

“It was more than having a bad dream,” Steve broke in, as gently as possible. “The last week has been really scary. If I wasn’t already sleeping in here with Tony, you can bet I’d insist on it. It does me a lot of good when I wake up in the middle of the night to be able to hear him breathing. There’s nothing childish about needing that right now.”

“Oh,” Peter said, startled.

“But,” Tony added, “it is probably a good idea to start trying to get back to something like normal. I’m okay, kid, I promise. And you have to go back to the city eventually—not today, not tomorrow, but probably next week—and finish your senior year. And then you’ve got college in Boston—”

“I’m not going to MIT.”

Tony blinked, obviously startled. “Oh. You decided on Stanford, then? When did that happen?”

“No,” Peter said. “I’m going to NYU.”

Tony’s brow furrowed. “But I thought you’d eliminated NYU. Last time we talked you said it was either MIT or Stanford.”

“Yeah, well, that was two weeks ago. Shit happened.”

The rough language was unlike Peter, and he was staring at Tony with a defiant tilt to his chin, daring him to contradict him.

“Wait a second,” Tony said. “You can’t decide to stay in the city just because I got sick.”

“NYU is a good school,” Peter replied. “I can stay here and keep being Spiderman, and not be on the other side of the country if something goes wrong.”

“Stanford is pretty far,” Tony allowed. “But you really liked it when we visited. And MIT is closer. It’s less than an hour on the Quinjet or Iron Man Express.”

“Which is great, until there’s an emergency and no one can spare the time to come get me,” Peter said. “I can’t stand the idea that I might not be be here if something terrible happens. I hadn’t been thinking about what that would mean.”

“Peter, you can’t—this is not a good way to make this decision,” Tony said, a slightly desperate edge to his voice. “You slept poorly, your anxiety is flaring up, and I know I scared the hell out of you. NYU feels safe, I get it. But you’d decided it wasn’t the best fit for you academically, and you told me you _wanted_ some space, away from New York and Spiderman.”

“Yeah, I just don’t care about that anymore,” Peter said. “I don’t,” he insisted, when Tony looked disbelieving. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Peter...”

“No,” Peter said, sitting up and glaring. “You told me this was my decision and you’d help me make it, but whatever I decided, you’d support me. So, is that true or not?”

“Yes,” Tony said. “Yes, it is your decision, and yes, I’ll support you no matter what. But, Peter...” Tony sighed. “Every time in my life that I’ve made a decision because I was afraid, I’ve ended up regretting it.”

Peter looked away. He swallowed hard. “I would have regretted not being here when you were sick. I would have gone crazy.”

“Someone would have come and gotten you,” Tony said. “Just like they came and got you from the city. Peter, please—don’t make this decision about me, and don’t make it because you’re afraid.”

“It’s not just about you,” Peter said. “I know May isn’t looking forward to being alone. She doesn’t have anyone. I can’t just abandon her, I don’t know why I ever thought that was okay.”

“You won’t be abandoning her,” Tony said. “You’ll call and text, and you’ll be home over breaks, at least some of the time. May will be fine, and you know that she wouldn’t want you to make this decision based on her any more than I want you to make it based on me.”

Peter crossed his arms over his chest. “I knew you wouldn’t get it, but that doesn’t matter. It’s my decision, though. And I’ve made it.”

“All right, fine.” Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. “Just don’t do anything about it yet, okay? You’ve got lots of time. Hold off a bit, make sure the decision sticks.”

“It will,” Peter said. “But... yeah, okay. I don’t have any of the admissions stuff with me anyway.”

Tony looked relieved. Peter looked stubborn. Steve wondered if it was worth trying to play peacemaker. He still hadn’t decided when Peter announced that he was going to take a shower and got up, disappearing into Tony’s bathroom. 

Silence reigned, until they heard the shower turn on. “May’s coming tonight,” Tony said. “She’ll straighten him out.”

“Hmm,” Steve said, hoping he sounded more noncommittal than dubious. Privately, though, he had his doubts. He’d recognized that stubborn set to Peter’s jaw. He’d seen it in the mirror a lot when he was younger.

***  
As Steve had expected, May did not exactly straighten Peter out.

Peter was thrilled to see her, that much was clear. He threw himself at her the second she walked in the door, and hugged her until she squeaked and said, “Peter, breathing!” in a strangled voice. They all migrated out to the living room, and for a second Steve thought Tony was going to let the earlier argument go, at least for the time being. It probably would have been the smart thing to do; if Peter was going to change his mind, he was going to do it on his own, once he had some distance from the events of the last week, and not because one of his parental figures pressured him into it. 

No such luck.

“So, Peter, did you tell May about your decision yet?” Tony asked, in a faux casual tone, as soon as they’d all sat down. Peter was sandwiched between May and Tony on the sofa, and right until that moment, he’d looked very happy to be there.

“What decision?” May asked. 

Tony raised his eyebrows at Peter. Peter glared at him before turning to look at May and saying, “I’m going to NYU.”

The conversation was almost identical to the one Tony and Peter had had—so similar it was almost funny. May was confused, then concerned, then indignant. Peter was stubborn—insisting it was his decision, insisting that he knew what he was doing. Steve sat back and let it unfold, knowing that none of the participants would appreciate him butting in. 

“New York is my home!” Peter finally burst out. “Why shouldn’t I stay here?”

“Because this is what you do, Peter!” May replied, raising her voice in a way Tony hadn’t—not because he hadn’t wanted to, Steve suspected, but because he hadn’t had the energy. “College is an adventure! You go out into the world and you find out what other places are like and you meet new people and you get the best fucking education possible!”

“NYU is a good school, and being Spiderman is enough of an adventure for me, thanks.”

“A _different_ adventure,” May said, putting her hands on top of her head, almost clutching at her hair. “Smoke pot, have sex, drink too much beer—you need to do these things!”

“I really don’t.” Peter stared at her, and for a second Steve glimpsed the hurt beneath the thick layer of stubborn pride. “I thought you’d be happy. I thought you wanted me with you.”

May’s hands fell to her lap. “Oh Jesus, Peter, of course I do. But it would be selfish of me to ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking it of me,” Peter said. “And neither are you,” he added, looking at Tony. “This is what I want. Why won’t you believe me?”

“I believe that it’s what you want right now,” Tony said, “but I don’t think it’s what you’re going to want in a month, or six months, or a year. You’re going to regret this, kid. Your aunt and I are just trying to save you from that.”

Peter sucked in a breath, and Steve just knew that whatever he was about to say, it would probably be something he’d later wish he hadn’t. Steve stood up. “Peter, let’s hit the obstacle course.”

Peter blinked, caught off guard. So were May and Tony, judging by their blank stares. “What?” Peter said.

“Obstacle course,” Steve said. “You and me.”

Peter looked at him, and for a second, Steve thought he’d fight him on it. But then he nodded. “Okay. Meet you down there?”

“Sure.”

Peter left without saying a word to either May or Tony. Steve turned to look at the two of them. 

“Uh,” Tony said, “what the hell, Steve? We were kind of in the middle of something.”

“Yeah, and as well as that was going, I thought we all needed a break before someone said something they couldn’t take back,” Steve replied. “Peter hasn’t done anything physical in days, which isn’t good for people like him and me. We’re going to run the obstacle course until we both turn to jelly, and while we’re doing that, the two of you can figure out if this is a hill you want to die on.”

“I will if I have to,” Tony said, frowning.

“And why is that?” Steve demanded, putting his hands on his hips. “Is NYU a bad school? Would it be terrible to have him home another four years? Couldn’t he go to MIT or Stanford for graduate school? I’m not arguing in favor of anything,” Steve added. “That’s not my place. But I was just as stubborn as Peter is when I was his age, and we all know how that ended up.”

With that, Steve walked out.

The obstacle course was just what the doctor ordered. Tony had upgraded it considerably since the first time Peter and Steve had run it together, almost a year ago now. It was smart and adapted to whoever was running it; it knew each Avenger’s strengths and weaknesses, and it was never the same twice. It could be run in tandem for team-building, or in parallel for friendly competition. Either way, it required the full attention and concentration of whoever was running it. 

Steve and Peter ran it three times in tandem, and succeeded in besting their previous high score––and Peter’s high with Tony, which should not have made Steve feel like gloating. Then they ran it twice against each other. Steve beat Peter each time, but he knew there would come a day when that was no longer the case. Someday, Peter was going to be better than him. He was already faster and stronger; he just needed the experience to go with it. 

By then it was nearly midnight. Steve tapped out, too tired to go another round, but Peter insisted on one more, trying to beat his previous score. Steve thought it was probably one time too many, but he didn’t think Peter was tired enough that he would hurt himself, so he didn’t stop him. Steve went and lounged on a pile of mats with a bottle of Gatorade, watching Peter on the monitors overhead as he ran through one last time. 

By the end, Steve could tell Peter was running on an empty tank, as Tony would’ve said. He staggered off the course and collapsed next to Steve, chest heaving, training suit soaked through with sweat. “Okay, you were right,” he gasped out. “That last time was pushing it. I think I might die.”

“Hydrate,” Steve says, shoving the bottle of Gatorade at him. Peter upended it unto his mouth, gulping it down. He drained it and let it fall to the side as he sprawled out. “Feeling better?” 

“Yeah,” Peter said, still a little breathless. “Yeah, that felt good. Well, the last bit didn’t. But before then, and now—it felt really good.”

“I’m glad.” Steve sat up and reached for another bottle of Gatorade for each of them. “Food and sleep are important in crisis situations, but I learned a long time ago that I also have to exercise, if it’s not the sort of crisis that inherently involves a lot of physical exertion. If I don’t do something, I stop thinking clearly.”

Peter didn’t respond. Steve flipped him one of the bottles and cracked open his own. “You think I’m not thinking clearly?” Peter asked.

Steve shrugged. “More like I know I’m not.”

Peter sat up so they were sitting side by side on the mats. “You were really quiet earlier.”

“Not my place,” Steve said. “I’m not your parent. And you were getting a lot of opinions already.”

Peter snorted. “Yeah. You can say that again.” He sipped his Gatorade. “What if I asked your opinion?” 

“Well, that’s different. I’m happy to offer it if you want it.”

“Okay. So... what do you think I should do? I mean, is it so bad if I decide I don’t want to leave? I applied to NYU so I’d have the option to stay, and Tony didn’t have a problem with it then.”

“And he probably wouldn’t have had a problem if you’d decided to stay because it was the best school or even because you weren’t ready to leave. But he doesn’t like the idea that you’re doing it for him.” Steve took a long pull on his Gatorade bottle. “And you’re not, really. You and I both know that.”

Peter was silent for a little while. “No, I’m not,” he finally admitted. “I was so scared. And I can’t imagine feeling like that and not being here. I get nauseous when I think about it.”

Steve nodded. “I understand. And if you decide to stay, I’ll support you.”

Peter looked at him sharply. “Really?”

Steve nodded again. “It’s your life. My understanding is, you’ll get a good education at any of the schools on your list. And from there, you can do anything. But...”

Peter groaned. “I knew there was a ‘but.’”

“But,” Steve pressed on, “if you do leave, I promise you two things. First, I will do my absolute best to be here to take care of Tony. Whether it’s an injury or the flu or reminding him to eat when he’s on a work binge, I’ll be here. I’m in this for the long-haul. Do you believe me?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. I believe you.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, looking Peter in the eye. He knew just how much that meant, given Peter’s suspicion of him in the beginning. “The second thing I promise you is that if there’s an emergency, you won’t be left in Boston or California, wondering what’s going on. You’re family, Peter, and you’re also part of my team, and I would never let that happen.”

Peter bit his lip. “If it’s another Thanos...”

Steve shivered involuntarily and thought about telling Peter to bite his tongue like his mother would have. But he knew what Peter meant. “God willing, we won’t have to deal with something on that level again for a long, long time. But I grant you, that might test things a bit, if you’re in California. I would do my damndest, though, Peter, I swear to you.” He thought about adding that Tony would, too, and then realized it might not be true. In the case of a threat that big, Tony would probably want Peter at least as far away as California.

Peter was quiet, sipping on his Gatorade. “My therapist says most kids don’t live their lives afraid their parents will die. But I’ve had a lot of loss, so I do.” 

Steve nodded. “Makes sense.”

“I don’t want that fear to win,” Peter said slowly. “I know that’s what Tony would say. Don’t let the fear win. But I also don’t know if I could ever stop being afraid, or if it would just... eat me. I don’t... I don’t know if I want to do it just to prove I can, and maybe make my anxiety and everything worse.”

Steve sighed. “I think that is a very fair concern. And I bet that May and Tony would agree, if you said it to them exactly like that.”

“You think so?” Peter asked in a small voice. 

“Yes,” Steve said, smiling at him gently. 

Peter let out a relieved breath. “Okay. Thanks, Steve.”

“Don’t mention it.” Steve shoved himself to his feet and offered Peter a hand up. “C’mon, let’s hit the showers.”

Peter took Steve’s hand and let him pull him to his feet. 

***

Peter finished showering first and left, telling Steve he’d see him upstairs. Steve took his time, suspecting that Peter had wanted a few minutes with Tony and May. 

When the elevator finally dropped him off in the penthouse, he was greeted by the sight of Tony and May, bracketing Peter on the sofa. May had her arms around him, and he was tucked into the lee of Tony’s body, his head resting on Tony’s shoulder. Steve ducked into the kitchen and started making tea, but his enhanced hearing picked up the conversation from the living room anyway. 

“—and I just don’t know if it might make everything worse, the anxiety and the insomnia—and everything else. I don’t want to let you down—"

“No, sweetie,” May said instantly. “You could never let us down.”

“But—Tony, I know you wanted me to go to MIT—"

“I want you to make the best decision for you, Pete. Maybe that’s MIT right now. Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s NYU right now and MIT in a few years.”

“Or no MIT at all,” May said, sounding like she was trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m trying to be open-minded, cut me some slack.”

“The point, sweetie, is that we support you. I’m sorry I wigged out earlier. This never occurred to me.”

“Or me,” Tony said, “and it should have. Sorry, kid.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said, voice cracking suspiciously. “I didn’t even know it was what I was really thinking until I talked to Steve. And I don’t––I don’t know. I might change my mind before the deadline, and I should probably talk to Dr. Gates before I make a real decision. But it’s okay if I decide to stay in New York? You won’t be mad?”

“No, sweetheart, we won’t be mad.”

“Not at all, Pete. And you can still live in the dorms,” Tony added. “Have a real college experience. What did you say, May? Pot, sex, and too much beer?”

May groaned. “Oh God, I’m going to regret that." 

Peter gave a watery laugh. “Yeah, that sounds good. Some of it, anyway.”

The conversation in the living room fell silent. Steve made up four mugs of tea, and carried them carefully into the living room. Peter sat up to drink his, but didn’t move from his spot between Tony and May. Steve handed Tony’s and May’s to them, and claimed an armchair for himself. 

The peace and quiet among the group was nice, but it was very late. Tony had taken a long nap that afternoon and dozed in front of the TV while they’d waited for May to arrive, but overall he’d spent a lot more time awake that day than he had in a long time. He started to droop noticeably, about halfway through his mug of tea, to the point that May finally had to reach over and rescue it before it could spill. “Sorry,” Tony mumbled, trying to lift his head from where it’d fallen against Peter’s shoulder. 

“Time for bed, I think,” Steve said, standing. “For all of us.”

Tony didn’t even protest when Steve helped him up. He thought about carrying him, but Tony was steady on his feet, even if he leaned heavily into Steve. “Wait, Peter,” Tony said, turning toward him. “Are you––”

“I’m gonna bunk with May tonight,” Peter said, smiling at his aunt, who had her arm around his shoulders. 

“It’s okay if you need to come in and sleep on the couch in our room,” Steve said. 

Peter nodded, giving Steve a very small smile. “Thanks. Good night.”

“Good night, kid,” Tony said, and let Steve help him to the bedroom. “Oh God, I am so tired.”

“I think you might’ve overdone it,” Steve said, a little worried. 

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll sleep in tomorrow.” Tony shuffled into the bathroom and leaned heavily against the counter while he brushed his teeth. Steve brushed his own and kept a close eye on him, worried that exhaustion would make him wobbly. But he seemed okay as he shuffled back into the bedroom collapsed onto the bed. He was half asleep as Steve pulled the covers out from under him and tucked him under them. 

“Wait, your pills,” Steve said. Tony groaned but sat up to take the pills Steve handed him with a cup of water. He lay down again, and Steve climbed in on the other side. Tony rolled over and Steve spooned him from behind. “Lights, FRIDAY,” Steve said, and the lights went out. 

Steve thought Tony had fallen asleep already; there was a heaviness to his body that implied he had. But after a few seconds of silence, he mumbled, “Thanks, for what you did tonight.”

Steve kissed the back of Tony’s neck. “All I did was give him some space to work things out for himself.”

Tony hummed. “Need to be better about that.”

Steve squeezed him in response. “You reacted like a parent, Tony. That’s okay. Don’t beat yourself up about it. All’s well that ends well, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony breathed, sounding as though he was barely awake. “I guess it is.”

Tony fell silent, and his breathing evened out. Steve tucked his nose into the back of Tony’s neck, breathed him in, and fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The building crumbled, and Tony’s world crumbled with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Fuzzyboo for beta reading this unexpectedly long story.

The building crumbled, and Tony’s world crumbled with it. 

There was a ringing in his ears as he flew toward the cloud of dust that was rising from the building that had just collapsed with Steve and Peter inside. “Cap!” he shouted into the comlink, but there wasn’t any answer. “Spiderman!”

“Are we sure they were inside?” Sam asked, voice tight. 

“I saw them go in,” Nat said grimly. “Iron Man, you’re second in command, what do you want to do?”

Tony couldn’t think. There was a buzzing in his ears and a very real possibility that he was about to be sick in the suit. “Black Widow, you have field command,” he said, knowing that he was way too fucking compromised to make any good decisions. 

“Confirmed,” Natasha said, voice going hard. “Barnes and Iron Man, you have search and rescue. The rest of us will deal with Doom.”

Tony landed beside Bucky at the edge of the destruction. “You okay, Barnes?” 

“If that punk isn’t dead, I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

Tony would’ve laughed, if he hadn’t felt as though all his insides had turned to liquid. “I have trackers in both their suits,” he said, flicking through the HUD with FRIDAY’s help. “Steve’s is dead, but Peter’s is still working, and I would lay odds that they’re together.” He hoped, anyway. “It looks like they were on the first floor when it went down, about two hundred feet back and to the southwest.” 

“Okay,” Barnes said, grimly. “Let’s do this.”

They couldn’t go nearly as quickly as Tony would have liked. He wanted to blast their way in, get to them as quickly as possible. He didn’t know if they had enough air, and they were almost certainly injured. But the building was on the verge of collapsing even further, so they had to pick their way in slowly, strategically, with Tony doing only short, controlled blasts that FRIDAY calculated wouldn’t cause further damage. Bucky took care of anything that required more finesse. 

They’d been at it an hour when Tony thought he heard something. “Wait,” he said, putting his hand out to stop Barnes. There it was again: someone coughing. And not just someone. _Peter_. 

“Kid?” Tony called. 

“T-tony?” Peter called back. 

“We’re coming for you, Pete! Is Steve with you?”

“Yeah, he’s... he’s here. But he’s not conscious. I think...” Peter’s voice cracked. “I think he’s hurt really bad. He covered me when the bomb went off.”

Tony’s stomach was in his mouth, but he forced himself to sound calm. “We’re going to get you both out. Are you okay?”

“N-not really,” Peter replied, voice wobbling. “I think I’ve got some broken ribs, and I was knocked out. My head really hurts. It’s hard to breathe. But I––I kinda webbed us into a pocket? I was worried about the building falling on us. Falling on us, more, I guess.”

Tony breathed a sigh of relief. Peter’s webs were really strong. They wouldn’t hold back the building, but they’d be some kind of buffer, at least. “Hang in there, all right? Bucky and I are coming.” He aimed another very controlled blast a the rubble blocking their path. 

Closer to the epicenter of the explosion, things got even more unstable. It took Tony and Bucky another hour to reach them. By then, the others had managed to take Doom into custody. They were waiting outside with transport back to the compound. Tony had told them all to stay out; the last thing they needed was for someone else to get trapped and need to be rescued. 

At last, Tony glimpsed the crisscrossing web that Peter had sealed him and Steve in with. “Peter?” he called. 

“T’ny?” Peter replied, slurring his words. 

“Hey kid, we’re here,” Tony said, going to one knee to peer in at him through the gaps in the webbing. “We’re gonna get you out.”

“Yeah, that... that’d probably be good.” Peter squinted at him. “I don’t feel so hot.”

“It’s going to be okay. We’re gonna get you and Steve out, get you both medical attention.” Tony started to delicately cut away at the webbing. Bucky was working on it as well, with a small pocket knife. 

“I-I think Steve’s hurt worse than me. He threw himself on top of me.”

“I know, buddy, you said.”

“I didn’t want him to.”

“Can’t stop Steve from being a self-sacrificing punk,” Bucky said. “I’ve been trying for ninety years. Never seems to stick. Don’t blame yourself.”

Fat chance of that, Tony thought. Still, he appreciated the effort. Barnes looked grim, and Tony knew they were thinking the same thing: any injury severe enough to keep Steve out this long was bad news. 

“Once we’re in, I’m going to grab Peter, and you go for Steve,” Tony said to Barnes. “And then we get the hell out as quickly as possible.” He didn’t say that the HUD readings on the building’s structural integrity were getting more and more worrisome. But he could tell from the serious way Barnes nodded at him that he got the unspoken message loud and clear.

There wasn’t enough space in the pocket Peter had created for Tony and the armor. Tony waited while Barnes crawled in and came back out with Peter clinging to him. The building was creaking ominously, and Barnes shoved Peter at Tony none-too-gracefully. “See you on the outside,” he said, catching Tony’s eye, and went back in for Steve. 

“How’re you doing, kid?” Tony asked, adjusting Peter so he was holding him more firmly. He decided that running in the suit would be worse for the questionable structural integrity of the building than the repulsors. He blasted off at a quarter his usual power. 

“Hurts,” Peter mumbled. “Hard to breathe.”

That was... not good. Tony chanced a look down and saw that his lips were turning blue. _Shit_.

He could only go so fast as he bobbed and weaved back the way they’d come. Bits of building were starting to fall all around them, and Tony knew they were playing beat the clock. 

“Wait, Steve,” Peter gasped, twisting in Tony’s arms. 

“Barnes has him. Stay still, Peter!”

“No,” Peter said, as they blasted out into broad daylight. The building gave an enormous groan, and the tunnel Tony and Bucky had dug collapsed behind them in a cloud of dust. “NO!” Peter shouted.

Tony landed at a run. Bruce and Sam were coming out to meet them with a stretcher. Tony laid Peter down, and he immediately tried to sit up. “No, Steve, no,” Peter moaned, frantic, stretching his arm out toward the building. 

“We’ve got him, Tony, go,” Bruce said, and Tony took off back toward the building. 

“Barnes?”

“Yeah,” Barnes said in his ear. Tony breathed a huge sigh of relief. “We almost made it. We’re maybe ten feet inside. Hurry, I think he’s bleeding internally.”

Tony decided the time for finesse was over. He started blasting bits of the rubble away, sweeping it aside. Rhodey landed beside him, and then Nat was there, too. Everyone who wasn’t helping Peter was helping Tony claw the rubble away so they could get to Steve and Barnes.

“Stark?” Barnes called.

“Barnes!” Tony yelled back. He shifted one last piece of concrete and there was Barnes, blinking up at him with Steve’s unconscious body half-buried beneath him. Barnes had clearly done exactly what Steve had for Peter and thrown himself on top of him when the building went. 

“Are you okay?” Rhodey asked. 

“I think my leg’s broken,” Barnes replied with gritted teeth. “Help me stand.”

“Yeah, no,” Rhodey said, and scooped him up in a bridal carry. Barnes made a choked sound and went even more pale. 

Tony was able to clear away the last of the rubble covering Steve and lift him up and out. He was breathing, but there was blood on his lips. It could have been from a bitten tongue or lip, but there was blooded matted in his hair and along the side of his suit, too. Overall, it did not look good. 

In the Quinjet, they got Steve secured next to Peter, who was trying to fend off Bruce. “Is he okay?” Peter demanded breathlessly. “Steve? Is he?”

“Stop, Peter,” Tony said firmly. “We got him out. You gotta let Bruce and Sam do their jobs, all right?” 

“Speaking of,” Bruce said, “I’m going to need to ask everyone who is not a trained medical professional to clear the area. You, too, Tony.”

“No, no!” Peter gasped, and then suddenly coughed, spraying blood. “Tony, don’t––”

“I’m right here, kid,” Tony said. He seated himself by Peter’s head, which not coincidentally also put him within arm’s reach of Steve, and put a hand on either side of Peter’s face. Bruce fitted an oxygen mask over Peter’s nose and mouth. “I’m not leaving,” he said. “But you gotta hold still, okay? You gotta let them work, on you and Steve and Barnes.”

“I’m fine,” Barnes growled. 

“You have a broken leg,” Natasha said, from where she was securing him. “It’s stabilized enough to fly, though. I’ll co-pilot.” 

“Thanks,” Tony said gratefully. “FRIDAY, take us home.”

The Quinjet lifted off. Peter looked up at Tony, even as his eyes grew heavy from the sedative Bruce had put into his IV line. “Sorry,” he mumbled around the oxygen mask. “Steve’s... Sorry.”

“It’s okay, kid,” Tony said, stroking his temple with his thumb. “You did good, all right?”

Peter blinked once and then his eyes fell shut. Tony drew a shaky breath and looked at Steve. Sam was cleaning the blood from his face, which only made the severe bruising more obvious.

“How bad?” he asked softly. 

Bruce looked up from the scanner that was giving him images of Steve’s chest. “If he were someone else, I’d say the odds weren’t great. But you know he’s not going out without a fight.”

Tony nodded. Bruce stood up to start an IV for Steve. 

Tony let go of Peter with one hand long enough to over and brush his knuckles down the side of Steve’s face. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Stay with us. Please.”

***

The next few days were some of the longest of Tony’s life, and considering the life he’d lived, that was saying something. 

Steve had a severe concussion––would’ve-been-dead-except-for-the-serum severe––and a laundry list of internal injuries. He’d needed surgery to repair his cracked pelvis, broken collarbone, and fractured hip, plus several liters of his own blood, but otherwise they had to let the serum do its work. Peter had a less severe concussion, three broken ribs, a punctured lung, a cracked sternum, and a compound fracture of his right ankle that none of them had even noticed in the chaos. He’d needed surgery to reset and clean out the ankle and deal with the punctured lung.

Bruce kept Steve heavily sedated for the first forty-eight hours. Peter was conscious but on heavy painkillers, which meant that his anxiety flared up. One of these days, Tony thought, he was going to take Peter to Wakanda for Shuri to run some tests and come up with something that didn’t turn him into a quivering ball of neuroses, but for the moment Bruce just kept a low but steady dose of tranquilizers in his IV. That calmed him down enough that Tony could leave the room without him flipping out––at least as long as May was there. 

Tony honestly had no idea what he would’ve done without May Parker. 

“Thank you,” he murmured on the third night, when she sat down beside him and handed him a paper cup of tea. It was late. Peter was asleep. Tony was exhausted, but Bruce had started easing up on the dosage of sedative that Steve was on, so they thought he might wake up soon. The room was still and quiet aside from the monitors. Bruce had told Tony to call him if Steve showed signs of regaining consciousness, and then he’d gone to sleep in a real bed for the first time since the fight. 

“You should lie down,” May said. “I’ll wake you if it seems like he’s waking up.”

Tony shook his head. “I’m okay for now. How are you doing?”

She shrugged and gave a humorless laugh. “I’m getting used to sitting in hospital rooms.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said in a low voice. “If I thought I could get him to stop...”

“No,” she sighed. “I know it wouldn’t work. He’s Spiderman, for better or worse.” She took a sip of her own tea. “You know, when I first found out, I did blame you.”

“Got that by the yelling,” Tony said ruefully. 

“I thought you must’ve encouraged it. But eventually I realized that you were just trying to give him what he needed to be as safe as he possibly could be, because you knew that he would never, ever stop.”

Tony looked down at his hands. “I could tell that he already had it. Superheroing is... it’s kind of an addiction. And I say this is as someone who is an actual addict. It’s partly the adrenaline, but it’s also the––the feeling that you’re part of something bigger, that you can make a real difference in the world. I tried to stop. Pepper begged me to stop. I tried, because I loved her and I wanted a life with her––but I couldn’t. And I won’t, until I physically can’t do it anymore. Steve is the same, which is why we––” Tony had to swallow against the lump in his throat “––why we work so well.”

“Yeah,” May said softly. “I know. It’s just––it’s a lot to come to terms with. I might lose him. I know that theoretically that was true before, but... it’s a lot more real on nights like this. And I don’t even get to be in the thick of it with you all. I have to just... wait for my phone to ring.” She sighed heavily. “But at least this way he gets the best medical care in the world when he does get hurt, and he’s got people around him he trusts to take care of him. I can’t ask for much more.”

Tony closed his eyes. “I’d do anything for him.”

“I know,” May said, and squeezed his arm. “You sure you don’t want to shut your eyes for a bit? I’ll be here.”

Tony wanted to argue, but the truth was that he was completely exhausted. “Okay,” he said. “Just for a couple of hours.”

He wasn’t sure he’d actually be able to sleep, since he was an insomniac at the best of times. But three sleepless nights in a row caught up with him all at once. His head had barely hit the pillow of the rollaway bed before he was asleep. 

He woke to May shaking him gently. “Tony. Tony, Steve’s awake.”

“I said don’t wake him up,” Tony heard Steve say in a rough, weary voice. 

“Are you kidding? He’d kill me. Tony, c’mon, open your eyes.”

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” Tony replied. “Steve?”

“Hi Tony,” Steve replied. 

Tony dragged himself upright. “Thanks, May.”

“No problem.” She nodded toward the door. “I’m gonna go get something from the cafeteria. You want anything?”

“No, I’m okay,” Tony said. She gave his hair an affectionate ruffle and left. 

Tony shuffled over to Steve’s bed. He sat down on the edge of it and picked Steve’s hand up in both of his. He kissed the still-bruised knuckles, eyes focused on Steve’s. “Can’t tell you how glad I am to see you, sweetheart.”

“Same here,” Steve murmured. 

“How’re you feeling?”

Steve’s mouth twitched, like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or grimace. “Like a building fell on me.”

Tony had to smile. “Peter made the same joke.” 

“It’s a good one.”

“It really isn’t.” Tony kissed Steve’s knuckles again, and then reached for the call button. “We need to let them know you’re awake.”

“They came in already,” Steve said, covering Tony’s hand with his. “You slept through it all.”

“Jesus, really?” Tony rubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry. It’s been a long few days. I think I could sleep for about a week.”

“If you help me move over, you could climb up here.”

It was tempting, but Tony knew Bruce wouldn’t approve. “Tell you what. If you’re really good and don’t rip out any stitches, in a day or two we’ll be able to snuggle in our own bed.”

Steve smiled. “That sounds pretty good.” He glanced over at Peter. “How’s he doing?”

“Not too badly,” Tony said. “Considering this is the second time he’s had a building dropped on him. I think he does better when he’s the one hurt.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve said, as though that were obvious. “Everyone else?”

“Barnes broke his leg. They set it, and he’s just in a cast for a few days. Everyone else is okay.” 

“Good,” Steve said with a sigh of relief. “And you? How’re you doing?”

Tony cupped Steve’s face in his hand. “Doing better now. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Steve said. His eyes were looking heavy again. “I’m gonna go back to sleep. You should, too.” 

Tony made no promises. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Always need you,” Steve mumbled, and just like that, he was out. 

Tony leaned down and brushed his lips across Steve’s forehead. “Me too,” he whispered, and gave Steve’s hand one final squeeze. Then he slid off the bed carefully and crawled back into the rollaway bed. But he didn’t fall asleep, not for a long time. Instead he lay awake, listening as the heart monitors of the two people he loved most in the world beat an out of sync rhythm. 

***

By morning, Steve was looking better enough that Tony took him up on his invitation and crawled up onto the bed with him. He settled himself with his head on Steve’s good shoulder, carefully avoiding all the bruises. May made kissy faces at them and snapped a picture on her phone. 

“Be nice to me or I’ll sell it to the tabloids and become a rich woman,” she told them, sitting cross legged on the rollaway bed. 

Tony rolled his eyes. “She’ll threaten me with blackmail but she won’t let me buy her and Peter a condo.”

“What can I say, Tony? I’m a proud woman. I don’t need charity.”

“And yet you’ll turn to a life of crime?”

“Why are you shouting?” Peter groaned into his pillow. 

Tony winced. “Sorry, kid. Hey, look who’s awake.”

Peter lifted his head and stared at Steve. Steve gave him a little wave, kind of sheepish. “Hi Peter.”

Peter sat up. “Are you okay?” 

“Getting there. Still pretty sore. How’re you?”

Peter ignored this. “How’s your head?”

“Not bad.”

“Really?”

Steve nodded, looking confused. 

“Good.” Peter reached behind him, grabbed a pillow, and chucked it at Steve. Steve ducked, and it hit Tony, who couldn’t quite stop an indignant squawk from escaping him. “Don’t you ever, _ever_ jump on top of me to save me again! You could have died! You could have died _on top of me_. What the actual fuck?” 

“Language, Peter!” May said, sounding shocked. 

Peter ignored her. “Seriously, Steve! Never again!”

Steve sighed. “You know I can’t promise that, Peter.”

“I’m not a child, Steve, you don’t need to protect me.”

“Yes, he does,” May said. 

“No, he doesn’t!” Peter snapped at her. “I’m a superhero. I save people. I don’t need anyone dying for me.”

He started out mad, but by the end, his voice had gotten thin and started to crack. Tony sat up and slid off the bed. “Pete, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Peter said, holding himself stiff even when Tony tried to put an arm around him. “It could’ve been––Steve could’ve––”

“But I didn’t, Peter,” Steve said gently. 

“And even if... even if it had been worse,” Tony said, swallowing past a lump in his throat, “it wouldn’t have been your fault. Remember what Barnes said? Steve’s going to be a self-sacrificing idiot no matter what.”

“As much as it pains me to agree with that,” Steve said, “it’s not... untrue. I can’t promise not to protect you, just like you can’t promise not to protect Tony.”

Peter didn’t answer. He was shaking, Tony realized. He glanced at May, who nodded at him and slipped out of the room, presumably to go find Bruce. “Come on, kid, breathe with me, all right?”

“I can’t,” Peter said, his voice edged with desperation. “I’m sorry, I can’t stop thinking about it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since it happened.”

“Oh jeez,” Steve said. “Tony, can you help me––”

“You are not leaving that bed,” Tony said firmly. 

Steve grimaced. “Fine. Then can you bring him here?” 

“Yeah, okay,. C’mon, Pete, let’s hobble.” Tony held onto Peter as he slid off the bed and hobbled the three feet to Steve’s bed. Then he helped him perch on the edge. 

Peter was still shaking and trying to catch his breath, and he wouldn’t look at either of them. Steve sighed. “Oh, Peter. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I never wanted to do that.”

“I thought... when I first woke up, I thought you were dead,” Peter hiccuped. “You were on top of me and I couldn’t see you, and you wouldn’t answer me, and I couldn’t feel you breathing. And I thought––I thought, Tony’s going to hate me. Steve’s dead, and it’s my fault, and Tony’s going to––to _hate_ me. And I thought––” Peter broke off, looking down. 

“Peter,” Steve said, reaching out to put a hand on Peter’s back. 

“I thought, I don’t think I can do this again.” Peter turned to look at Steve, his eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t make me do it again. Please.”

“Peter,” Steve said again, helpless, and tugged at Peter’s shoulder, so he folded down to lie on Steve’s chest. Peter broke into wracking sobs that shook his thin frame. Steve held Peter’s head against his shoulder and looked up at Tony, seeming mildly terrified. Tony rubbed Peter’s back and shook his head, trying to tell Steve that he didn’t know what to do either. 

Peter was still crying when May returned with Bruce in tow. Tony stepped away to meet them in the hallway. 

“May said she thinks we need to increase his dose of tranquilizers,” Bruce said, eyeing the scene in the hospital room a little warily. 

Tony crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head. “I thought he was having an anxiety attack earlier, too, but I think he’s been holding it in since it happened, and this is actually a—a release of tension.” Bruce’s eyebrows went up, but he didn’t argue. “Listen, is there anyway we can move them both upstairs a little earlier?”

“How much earlier?” Bruce asked with a frown.

“I was thinking about, well, now. They both have healing factors that are through the roof. Now that Steve’s awake, he’s probably out of danger, and I think Peter would do better in a place he felt safe.”

Bruce sighed. “Normally, I wouldn’t recommend it just yet, but you’re right about their healing factors. Let me consult with the physician on duty and get back to you.”

Back in the room, Peter’s sobs had quieted into hiccuping hitches of breath. Steve was smoothing his hair back over and over, looking stricken.

“You okay?” Tony asked him. Steve nodded. He glanced down at Peter and then up again at Tony, seeming at a loss for words. 

“I know,” Tony said and leaned down to brush his lips across Steve’s forehead. 

***

By lunchtime, they were back in the penthouse. Tony got Peter and Steve settled, then ordered soup and sandwiches from the cafeteria downstairs, not wanting to risk May deciding to try and cook. The patients fell asleep while they were waiting for the food, so May and Tony ate sitting at the kitchen island with FRIDAY monitoring Peter and Steve. 

May glanced at her phone as she ate and swore. “My boss wants me back on Monday.” She groaned, covering her face briefly with her hands. “God, they have been such assholes. They hated that I took time off when Ben died. No one ever even asked me how I was doing when I came back.”

Tony felt his mouth drop open. “Seriously?”

“Well, technically my manager said something.” May’s smiled twisted, becoming bitter and ironic. “About a week after I came back, she said to me, ‘I’m sure you’re glad to be getting back to normal.’ As though anything was ever going to be normal again.”

“What the fuck?”

“Right?” May aggressively ate a forkful of pasta salad. “And every time Peter gets hurt,” she went on with a full mouth, “it’s the same thing. Don’t tell him, but I was passed over for a promotion a couple of months ago, and I’m pretty sure it’s because of my ‘extended absences.’” She added finger quotes. “Which aren’t even that extended! I’ve only ever taken two or three days.”

“So quit,” Tony suggested.

“I can’t quit,” May said in a familiar tone of exasperation. That tone meant _Tony, you’ve forgotten that not everyone has more money than God_. “I have a kid to keep in food and clothes, not to mention rent to pay. And no, you can’t buy us a condo.”

“Just a small one,” Tony wheedled. “Three bedrooms, four max. Two bathrooms—just think, you wouldn’t have to share a bathroom with a teenage boy anymore. And I could get you something in a high security building that would be a lot safer for both of you. I think I even own a couple, though you might have to change boroughs. But actually, that isn’t what I was going to suggest.” Tony put his sandwich down and turned to face May. “Come work for me—well, not me. Pepper. Have you ever done any project management?”

May was staring at him. “Um. Yes? Herding cats is a big part of my job.”

Tony shrugged. “SI always needs project managers. Especially ones that can make me do things on time. Pepper loves you. What are you making? Never mind, I’m sure it’s not what you’re worth. We’ll double it.”

FRIDAY broke in. “Boss, I am obliged to remind you that for the sake of pay equity, Stark Industries has salary ranges associated with job titles and years of experience.”

Tony groaned. “All right, fine, I can’t promise you we’ll double it, but it’s definitely going to be more than you’re making now. What do you think?” Tony took a big bite of his sandwich and chewed, mostly to stop himself talking. 

“I... don’t know what to think,” May said slowly. “It’s a really generous offer.”

That wasn’t no, at least. “FRIDAY, shoot Pepper an email,” Tony said. “Tell her I want to hire May Parker as a project manager and she needs to talk to her ASAP, because I don’t know all the boring details about what that would look like, and also I don’t care about them.”

“Right away, boss.”

“There, see? Problem solved. Stay as long as you want.”

May still looked kind of shell-shocked, but Tony was used to having that effect of people. He ate his sandwich and answered a few emails from the folks in R&D, and by the time they were done eating, she looked like she’d recovered. 

It was a good thing, too, because her phone rang while they were doing the dishes.

“It’s Pepper,” May said, staring at it.

Tony loaded the last plate into the dishwasher. “Answer it. I got things here.”

May looked up. “Tony...”

“Don’t thank me yet, just take the call!” Tony said, shooing her away with the dish towel. 

May turned away as she answered the phone. “Hi Pepper,” she said, heading toward her bedroom. 

“Boss, Captain Rogers and Peter are both showing signs of waking,” FRIDAY said. 

“Thanks, FRI,” Tony said. He made two mugs of tea to take into Peter and Steve, adding honey and lemon to each. He took them into the bedroom, nudging the door open with his hip and then closing it partway with his foot. 

“Tony?” Peter said blearily.

“Right here, kid. You want some tea?” 

“Yeah, thirsty,” Peter said, struggling upright with a wince.

“Steve?” Tony asked, as he helped Peter sit up, propped up with pillows.

“In a minute,” Steve mumbled into a pillow.

Tony sat down next to Peter on the bed. “How you doing, Pete?” 

“Better,” Peter said, eyes trained mostly on his tea. “No nightmares.”

“Good,” Tony said, resting his hand on Peter’s foot through the layers of blankets. His phone chimed and he glanced at it. _Heard you’re back in the penthouse_ , Sam had written. _Up for visitors? Barnes is getting twitchy that he hasn’t seen Steve yet._

“Are we up for visitors?” Tony asked. “Sam and Barnes? Sam says Terminator’s getting twitchy.”

“Sam and Bucky aren’t visitors,” Steve said. “They’re family.”

“So, yes, then?” 

“Yes.”

“You okay with that, kid?” Tony asked Peter.

Peter shrugged. “Sure.”

He looked exhausted even as he said it. Tony supposed that made sense. Sam and Barnes weren’t Peter’s family, after all. He barely knew them. Tony decided he could move Peter out to the living room, since Steve clearly wanted to see Sam and Barnes, and they were perfectly capable of looking after him for a bit. Tony typed back an affirmative response to Sam, asking him to hold off for an hour, so he could get Steve and Peter to eat something.

Halfway through his bowl of soup, Peter put his spoon down with a frown. “Is May taking a nap or something?”

“She’s on the phone,” Tony replied.

Peter’s brow furrowed even deeper. “Is everything okay?”

“Yep,” Tony said. “Finish your soup.”

Sam and Barnes—who was on crutches still, because the break had been a nasty one—showed up just as Steve and Peter were finishing lunch. Tony helped Peter move out to the living room, then came back to kiss Steve and tell the others to let him know if he needed anything. 

“Aunt May’s been on the phone a long time,” Peter said, once the two of them were ensconced on the sofa. “Are you sure everything’s okay? Is it her job?”

“It’s fine, kid,” Tony said, wrapping an arm around Peter. Peter snuggled in. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Brooklyn 99_?”

“ _Brooklyn 99_ ,” Peter agreed. “The mumps one.”

Tony grinned. “That’s a good one.”

He put the episode on. Peter leaned against him, and Tony moved his fingers slowly through his hair. They were going to have to talk about what Peter had said in the infirmary, but for now he was content to just be with his kid.

His phone buzzed near the end of the episode. _Everything ok?_ May had asked. _Pepper wants to introduce me to some people over Skype._

That sounded promising. _We’re fine here. Peter and I are watching TV while Steve hangs out with Sam and Barnes._

_Okay. Let Peter know what’s going on?_

_Sure._

Tony set his phone down. “Your aunt’s going to be a little longer, kid. I, uh, I might’ve... recommended her to Pepper for a job at SI, and she has to meet a few people.”

Peter lifted his head. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Why?”

“Her boss was giving her a hard time about taking time off, and that annoyed me.” Tony shrugged. “Lots of problems in the world aren’t easily solved. This one was. It’ll make things a little easier on you both. Plus, my experience of your aunt is that she’s the sort of scary competent person Pepper likes.”

“Wow. That’s... wow. Thanks, Tony.” 

“No problem, kid.” Tony combed his fingers through Peter’s hair, and Peter gave a quiet sigh, melting into Tony’s side. 

They watched another episode. By the end of it, Tony decided Peter was relaxed enough to hear what he had to say. Tony paused the TV so that it didn’t roll into the next episode and gave Peter’s shoulders a squeeze. “Hey, kid?”

“Mmm?” 

“I would never hate you.”

Peter was silent for a few seconds. “But... Steve is your... you guys are like... _endgame_.”

Tony had to smile. “Yeah, we are. But he and I have been doing this a long time. We know the risks. And I know what a self-sacrificing asshole he is. Give the man a wire, he’ll lie down on it. It’s enough to give me an ulcer. But that isn’t on you, and I would never blame you for it. Ever, okay?”

Peter pressed his face into Tony’s chest. “I’ve never told May,” he said softly, muffled.

Tony frowned. “What?” 

“That I was there when Ben died. She doesn’t know.”

“Oh, _kid_ ,” Tony said, cupping the back of his head in his hand.

“I’m just so afraid she’ll hate me,” Peter said, voice cracking. “I could’ve saved him. I let the guys get away, and then they—and it was too late. Dr. Gates says it’s not my fault, but I still feel like it is, and what happened with—with Steve, it felt like it was happening all over again.”

“Peter.” Tony pressed his lips to the crown of Peter’s head. “It wasn’t your fault, and she wouldn’t hate you. But I understand how hard it would be to have that conversation.”

“Dr. Gates says he thinks I should, because having that kind of a secret, it... it hurts the relationship. But every time I think about it, I just start spiraling.”

He was spiraling now, Tony could tell. His breathing was picking up, and he was starting to tremble faintly. Tony tightened his arm around him. “Don’t think about it right now, okay? You don’t have to do anything right now except get better.” 

He turned the TV back on and gently rubbed a hand up and down Peter’s shoulder until he felt him start to calm. Peter slid down until his head was in Tony’s lap. His breathing turned slow and even. Tony felt himself relax more that he ever did normally, not even tempted to pick up his phone. 

Sometime later, the bedroom door opened and Sam came out. He caught sight of Tony and Peter and made an _aww so cute_ face. Tony glared. Sam grinned, unrepentant. 

Jesus Christ, this parenting thing was so bad for his reputation. 

“The super soldiers have demanded snacks,” Sam said quietly. “Can I get you anything?”

Tony forgave him in an instant. “Cup of coffee?” 

“You got it, Stark,” Sam said, and fired up the espresso machine. 

Coffee was the only thing that could have made his situation better, Tony reflected, once Sam had handed it over and retreated back into the bedroom with enough snacks for two recovering super soldiers. Well, and Steve and Peter not being hurt, of course. But now that they were both out of danger, Tony let himself enjoy an afternoon on the sofa with his kid, content in the knowledge that everyone he loved was in one place, no one was in danger, and he had nowhere to be other than right where he was.

***

That night, Peter went to sleep in his room with May with only a little bit of a backwards glance. Tony helped Steve shuffle into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash up, and then shuffle back into the bedroom.

“How’re you feeling?” Tony ventured to ask once they were both in bed. 

“Okay,” Steve said with a tired smile. “It was a long day, but I was glad to see Bucky. And Peter seemed like he was doing better?”

“I talked to him a little. It might help if you did, too. It scared the hell out of him, and it brought up some stuff having to do with his uncle...” Tony shook his head. “He’s too young to have that much baggage.”

“So were we,” Steve pointed out. 

“Touché,” Tony sighed. His phone buzzed. “Bruce says he’ll be by in the morning to look at both of you.”

“I’m feeling a lot better.”

“Well, since you were basically in a medically-induced coma until about fifteen hours ago, I’m glad to hear that.” Tony looked up and narrowed his eyes at Steve. “Don’t even think about getting out of bed before Bruce clears you.”

Steve actually stuck out his lower lip and honest-to-God pouted. “He’s way too cautious.”

“And you were bleeding internally,” Tony returned, “so you’ll stay in bed until Bruce clears you. Besides, you wouldn’t want to set a bad example for Peter, would you?”

Steve groaned. “That’s playing dirty.”

“All’s fair, cupcake.”

Steve heaved a huge, put-upon sigh. “Fine. But I seem to recall that you promised me snuggling in our own bed.”

“That, I can do,” Tony said, and set his phone aside. 

Carefully, they maneuvered until they were both lying down and comfortable—Steve on his back, supported by pillows, and Tony on his side curled around Steve, their feet tangled together. Tony asked FRIDAY to hit the lights. 

“Hey,” Tony said, after a couple minutes of lying together in the dark.

“Mmm?”

“Peter said something today, about you and me.”

“Oh?” Steve suddenly sounded more awake and just a little nervous. 

“He said we were ‘endgame.’ You know what that means?”

“I think so,” Steve said slowly. “Is that—don’t you think of us that way?”

“I do.” Tony reached out to cup Steve’s jaw in his hand and stroke his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone. “Just occurred to me that maybe we should talk about what that means. Not now, necessarily. I know it’s been a long day.”

Steve drew a shaky breath. “I know what I want it to mean. But it’s a bit... old fashioned. I wasn’t sure you’d be into wearing a ring.”

“I haven’t been before,” Tony admitted. “I never thought I would be, to be honest. But I also never thought I’d have a kid, and I seem to have acquired one anyway.” He swallowed. “I didn’t think I could do marriage. I didn’t have a great model of one, growing up. Same with fatherhood. But I think maybe I was wrong.”

“I think you were,” Steve said with a sad smile. “But I’m clearly biased.”

Tony smiled back, rueful. “But I’m not the only one who said they didn’t want to get married. After Ultron, you told me you didn’t think you’d ever do it. You said the person who wanted those things went into the ice, and someone else came out.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, tilting his head back to look at him. “That was true then. I think I was still heartbroken about all the chances I missed with Peggy, and giving myself to the fight just seemed... easier. I had a bit of a death wish, to be honest.”

“Had?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Had,” Steve confirmed. “I think all of that was true until Thanos. Until we lost everything, and you and I found each other. And then, this last year—I think I remembered what it was like to have parts of myself that didn’t belong to the fight. To have pieces of me that are just... me. I’d forgotten what that was like. You reminded me. You and—and Peter. I hope that’s okay to say,” he added hastily. 

“Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be?” Tony asked, frowning.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m trying to push into the relationship you have with him. And he’s not... he’s not my kid, the way he is yours.”

“No, but you’re a better mentor to him than I ever was,” Tony said, knowing it was true. “I was way too hands off, because I was afraid of getting attached, and then suddenly I was really, _really_ attached. Too attached to be a good mentor on the superheroing stuff, especially after the reversal. He’s lucky to have you. And I’m glad he helped you remember.”

“Me too,” Steve said quietly. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

Tony nodded. He leaned in and kissed Steve, lingering a little. “I love you,” he murmured, lips barely brushing Steve’s.

“Mmm,” Steve hummed contentedly. And then, pulling back a couple of inches, “Did we just get engaged?”

“A pre-engagement,” Tony said. “If you think you’re getting away with that as a proposal, then you don’t know me at all. It’s like you’ve forgotten that I fly around in a metal suit painted hot rod red and gold.”

Steve groaned. “Nothing too public, please.”

“Nothing too public,” Tony agreed. “I’ll cancel the sky writer.”

Steve’s lips quirked up in a smile. “I think you’re joking but you’re you, so it’s hard to tell.”

Tony smirked. “I like to keep the mystery alive.”

***

He woke in the middle of the night to a hand on his shoulder. “Tony?” Peter whispered.

“Kid?” Tony said, blinking himself awake. “What’s wrong?”

“I... I had a nightmare.” A real doozy, judging by the shake in his voice. “Can I sleep on the sofa?” 

“Sure,” Tony said, rubbing his eyes. “You wanna talk?” Peter shook his head. “Okay. That throw is too thin on its own, grab the blanket off the end of the bed.” 

Peter dragged the blanket off the bed and hobbled over to lay down on the sofa. Tony grabbed one of his own pillows and went to tuck it in behind him. He hesitated, looking down at Peter, catching sight in the dim light of the tear tracks on his cheeks. “You sure you don’t want to talk?” 

Peter shook his head again, lips pressed together tightly like he was trying to hold everything in. “Okay,” Tony said, taking pity on him. “Sleep well, kid.”

He lay awake in his own bed for a long time, listening. But if Peter cried, he did it so quietly that Tony couldn’t hear it. Eventually, Tony couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. He slept. 

***

Peter was gone by the time Tony woke the next morning. He would’ve thought he’d dreamed the whole thing, except that one of his pillows was on the sofa, squished into a corner. Tony left Steve sleeping, and went to start the coffee and the day. 

Bruce had said he’d be by at eight. It was quarter after seven now. Tony was fairly certain that he was going to tell Steve that he was on restricted activity for another two or three days at least. From previous experience, Tony knew what a pain in the ass a Steve Rogers on bedrest could be, and despite what he’d promised last night, Tony braced himself for both subterfuge and outright whining.

“These breaks haven’t fully healed,” Bruce said, when he’d finished scanning Steve. “And your internal organs are still recovering, too. You lost a lot of blood. You need to give your body time to recover from this.”

“But I’m not in pain,” Steve objected.

“That’s nice,” Bruce replied. “I don’t care. Your pain threshold is so high that it’s basically meaningless.”

“But—”

“Nope,” Bruce said. “Two days, Steve.”

Steve didn’t look happy about it, but he did stop arguing. Tony knew better than to think that was the end of it, though. 

What he hadn’t counted on was Peter. 

As soon as Bruce left, before Steve even had the chance to open his mouth, Peter appeared in the doorway on his crutches. “Hey,” he said, looking totally exhausted. Tony had thought he’d gone back to sleep the night before, but maybe he hadn’t after all. “Can I crash in here for a bit?”

“Sure,” Tony said, standing up to help him. He spread the blankets up hastily on his side of the bed and sat Peter down on it. “Where’s May?”

“Happy came and got her after Bruce left. I guess Pepper wanted her to come down to the city today for a couple hours?”

Tony groaned. “That was the opposite of what I wanted when I recommended her for the job.”

Peter shrugged. “I told her I’d be okay, but the room was, um. It was really quiet.”

“You’re welcome to stay in here as long as you want,” Tony said, helping him prop his foot up on a pile of pillows. 

“Thanks,” Peter said, visibly relaxing. “So... what are we watching? Movie marathon? Or TV? Oh, have you seen _The Good Place_? MJ got me started on it. Or _The Great British Bakeoff_ , that’s May’s favorite. She says it lowers her blood pressure. Have you seen it, Steve?”

“I... have not,” Steve said, frowning. 

Tony covered his mouth with his hand and leaned against the doorway. Steve had clearly been gearing up to fight with Tony about eating breakfast in the kitchen before Peter had shown up. Peter had entirely disarmed him.

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Sorry, am I being too much? Bruce just said we were both on bed rest for another two days, so I thought...”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Steve said. “I just... I don’t like being stuck in bed. Reminds me of when I was sick all the time as a kid, I guess.”

Peter shrugged. “No one loves it, but it won’t be so bad. Besides, you take care of other people all the time.”

“He’s right,” Tony said. “You do take care of other people all the time.”

Peter looked up and caught Tony’s eye. _Ah ha_ , Tony thought. The kid knew exactly what he was doing. “I’m going to go make breakfast,” Tony announced, and left so he could stop trying to suppress his grin. 

He opened the fridge and surveyed its contents. “What’ve we got for them, FRI?”

“Dr. Banner has prescribed protein and iron for both Captain Rogers and Peter,” she replied. “May I suggest steak and eggs?”

Steve was the real cook in the family, but Tony knew how to sear a steak and fry an egg. “Sounds good,” he said, and pulled the steak out of the fridge. 

Tony had never realized when he was younger just how much joy he could get from things that he had always spurned as being hopelessly domestic. His mother had loved Italian food, and when he was very young, she’d shown him how to cook a few things. But Howard hadn’t liked the idea of Tony cooking, and so it’d stopped by the time he was eight or so. His mother hadn’t cooked much after that, either, or at least he didn’t remember it if she had. His younger self had found food pleasurable but never really seen it as a way of expressing affection. 

His younger self had been a moron. 

Tony took the time to plate everything––something he’d learned from Steve––and even slice up an orange, though he couldn’t get the slices to twist neatly the way Steve did when he used them as a garnish. He settled for putting them on a separate, smaller plate, next to the larger ones with the steak and the eggs. 

He was going to have to come back for tea and orange juice for everyone, he decided, and picked up the tray. 

“—sorry that it upset you so much,” Steve was saying as Tony nudged the door to the bedroom open. “But I can’t be sorry for having done it. I’d do it again if I had to.”

Tony hesitated, realizing that he was interrupting the conversation Steve had promised him he’d have with Peter. “Sorry,” he said, feeling a little awkward. 

“It’s okay,” Steve replied. “Wow, steak and eggs? Really?”

“Bruce said you both needed protein and iron.” Tony helped them get set up, trays balanced on their laps in the bed. “I’ll be right back with tea and juice.”

Tony slipped back out of the room, pulling the door mostly shut behind him. “I get it,” he heard Peter say to Steve. Tony hesitated, listening. “I get that you’d do it again, because I’d do it, too. But it was—it was awful, and I’m having a hard time getting past it in my head. I thought you were dead.”

“I know. And I don’t... Peter, I’ll be honest, I don’t know how to make this better.”

Tony bit his lip.

“Well,” Peter said with a quiet sigh, “I can’t really hold it against you. May pointed out that it’d be pretty hypocritical if I did, considering all the ‘shit I’ve pulled.’ Her words. So we’re okay.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, sounding hopeful. 

“Yeah,” Peter confirmed. 

Tony breathed a very quiet sigh of relief and went to make tea. 

By the time he returned with the tea pot, a carafe of juice, and a cup of coffee for himself, the two of them were eating their breakfasts and watching Peter’s baking show. Everything was normal, except that Tony noticed Peter leaning subtly against Steve’s shoulder. Not a lot, not the way he tended to glom onto Tony given the opportunity, but... noticeable, all the same. Tony sat next to Peter; there was just enough room for him to bring his legs up onto the bed. Peter leaned into him, abandoning Steve’s shoulder. That should not have made Tony feel smug, but it did, a bit. He didn’t mind knowing that he was still Peter’s favorite.

“Everything okay?” Tony asked as he distributed mugs of tea and glasses of juice.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I mean––it’s not, but it will be. Sometimes things just have to suck for a while, I guess. I’ll talk to Dr. Gates about it. I might up my anxiety meds for a bit. Maybe take a couple weeks off from Spiderman until I’m feeling better. But I’ll be okay.”

“Good,” Tony said, nudging Peter’s shoulder with his own.

Steve set his mug of tea down on his tray. “Peter, I just want to tell you—I hope this doesn’t come out condescending, but I’m so proud of you.”

“You are? Why?”

“Because you’re learning how to deal with this stuff much better than Tony and I ever have. I’ve carried around so much... pain, I guess, without ever realizing it. Or knowing what to do about it, except keep fighting because it was the only thing that made sense to me. Tony’s the same, I think. But you’re not. You’re learning how to cope in ways that won’t make things worse in the long run. And I’m just so damn proud of you for it.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, ducking his head. “But I learned how to do it from you guys. Both of you. So maybe you’re better at it than you think?”

“Maybe we’re all learning from each other,” Tony said, thinking of what Steve had told him the night before. Thinking about his past self and how he would have scoffed at all of this.

“Yeah,” Peter said, and rested his head on Tony’s shoulder. “Maybe.”

The three of them settled in. Tony sipped at his coffee and frowned at the TV. “What the hell are we watching?” he asked as a bunch of people on screen ran about frantically fanning dough and drizzling icing over things. “This is the thing May says lowers her blood pressure?”

“Yep,” Peter said. “I like it. You’ll probably hate it, but I bet Steve likes it.”

Tony was prepared to like anything that kept Steve from trying to get out of bed, but after an episode and a half, he concluded that Peter was right: Tony didn’t particularly like the show. There was no dramatic tension at all, and watching people beat egg whites for meringue didn’t do much for him. But he did like that Steve and Peter were resting quietly, with none of the expected restlessness. Peter sank deeper and deeper into the bed, until he ended up with his head on a pillow in Tony’s lap. Tony rested his hand on his arm, thumb moving idley back and forth. Steve had his eyes closed, but Tony could tell from his breathing that he wasn’t quite asleep, just relaxed. Tony felt his breathing slow to match theirs, almost despite himself. 

Peter had fallen asleep when Steve reached over and covered Tony’s hand where it rested on Peter’s shoulder. “Do you think he’s right? About us being better at it than we think we are?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said. He looked down at Peter. “I feel like I’m still pretty bad at it. But... but getting better, maybe. Like there’s hope for me yet.”

Steve smiled and closed his eyes again. “Yeah, me too. And hope is good enough.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. He felt Peter’s shoulder rise and fall beneath his hand in a faint sigh. He smiled to himself, feeling a wave of fondness crest and break over him, filling up every part of him that had been empty for years. Empty and waiting, if only he had realized it. “More than good enough.”

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, some stories are hard to write. Some stories really fight you. And some stories are just pure pleasure from beginning to end. This story was so much fun to write. I will miss it, and I'm not quite sure what I want to write next. 
> 
> So, I'm taking prompts in the comments. Especially for this 'verse but I'm open to other ideas or 'verses, too. Holiday themes welcome. Hurt/comfort and sickfic prompts definitely welcome. 
> 
> FYI, you are probably more likely to get your prompt filled if you also say something about this story. ;-)

**Author's Note:**

> Please metaphorically feed the writer.


End file.
